#so I hope this will make the process seem less intimidating for anyone considering it

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(GFL Short Fic) "A Scarecrow's emotions"

Alternative Title: WHAT IS LOVE? BABY DON'T HURT ME, DON'T HURT ME, NO MORE!

Author's Note: This was originally in a different prompt before I had a moment of realization and went "Wait a second this is WAAAY too long to just be in a headcanon!" So now it's here, and I hope ya'll enjoy! Word Count: 1.5k

To say Scarecrow struggled understanding the emotions of others was a colossal understatement.

Before she began working under the Commander and Griffin, she despised sentimentality. Thanks to the Protocol Assimilation however, her hatred of emotions lessened.

This did not help her understand it any better unfortunately, something she continued to struggle with.

It especially didn't help that her only other encounters with emotions was with the Commander (which was fairly recent), and Executioner, who was a loudmouth tomboy of a T-Doll.

And lastly, one human who expressed interest in her, to her complete shock.

Being from Sangvis, she and her comrades were understandably treated coldly at first from Griffin personnel, barring some of the extremely friendly ones.

Scarecrow was quite used to this, considering she barely had any respect from her allies to begin with.

And given that her entire role was scouting and data gathering, she had no need for emotions, or friends.

When Scarecrow had met (Y/N) for the first time, she was honestly annoyed and quite suspicious of them, given how the rest of the humans wouldn't even give her the time of day. (Not that she exactly needed to ask them for it)

==

Scarecrow walked out of the maintenance bay and into the brightly lit hallways of Griffin's Base, prepared to make her way towards the dorms. Before she could get much further, she was stopped by one of the engineers.

(Y/N) "Scarecrow! Um, how are you feeling?"

She turned towards them, her eyes remaining unchanged as the mask obscured her mouth, showing no visible change in emotion.

(Scarecrow) "I am operational."

Scarecrow replied curtly. She observed their movements and they seemed...relieved?

(Y/N) "Oh, good! I was worried that we may not have gotten your repairs right! I don't think I've ever worked on anyone quite like you before."

(Scarecrow) "Of course. Griffin T-Dolls are far less advanced than Sangvis."

(Y/N) seemed to struggle on how to choose their next words, though it did not seem like her statement was the cause of it.

(Scarecrow) "You are fidgeting an abnormal amount for a human. Are you intimidated by me?"

(Y/N) "...W-Well, kinda, if I'm being honest...!"

They laughed nervously, but it was cut off by Scarecrow's continued deadpan stare at them. They cleared their throat and straightened their back.

(Y/N) "But, really, I was nervous that your repairs might not have gone smoothly. I see I was worrying for nothing."

(Scarecrow) "I see."

She gave them a simple nod with her facial expressions not budging an inch.

(Scarecrow) "I recognize you are simply being polite. It is wasted on me, nevertheless I will say 'Thank you'."

(Y/N) "If something's wrong with your systems, don't hesitate to come see me!"

(Scarecrow) "Acknowledged."

Finally she began departing for her dorm, processing the conversation she just had. That was the first time anyone was worried about her wellbeing.

==

Besides the Commander, (Y/N) had become someone she visited often, though it was mostly because she wanted peace and quiet and did not want anyone to disturb her thinking.

They treated her with respect, despite the fact she was a former adversary.

The fact they were so open to trust a Sangvis Doll was stupid. Humans made no logical sense to her. And yet...something drew her to them, and it frustrated her to no end that she couldn't determine why.

This was the first time that she had interacted with humans and did not want to immediately end their lives, so the change in perspective was unnerving to her. It felt like it went against her base programming.

But she did not hate the feeling. At least, it did not feel that way.

Anytime she spoke with (Y/N), she always had her mask on them, more out of habit since that was her uniform than anything malicious.

And she knew they were always staring at it, and her eyes when they replied. She didn't know why, until a few months into their 'friendship, for lack of a better term, did she know why.

==

(Y/N) "Hey, Scarecrow?"

(Scarecrow) "What is it?"

Scarecrow replied, her tone muffled and cold as ever.

(Y/N) "If it's not too rude for me to request this, could...I see you without your mask?"

She turned to them, curiosity rising in her digimind, though her face did not portray it.

(Scarecrow) "Why? I do not possess any facial features that can recreate emotion like you can."

(Y/N) "That part doesn't really bother me. I just...want to see you, if that makes any sense."

(Scarecrow) "It does not."

(Y/N) began stuttering, trying to find a better way to phrase what they meant before noticing her irises were changing ever so slightly. They seemed to focus on their face, her hands slowly reaching for the mask and disengaging the locks.

Her lips were surprisingly soft looking, and not as rough or machine-like as (Y/N) was expecting.

(Scarecrow) "However, I will comply with your request."

Her voice was finally unfiltered from her mask, the voice sounding quite soothing to their ears.

(Y/N) "W-Wow..."

(Scarecrow) "What is so fascinating about my lips? You have seen them on other T-Dolls and humans."

(Y/N) "It's not that, it's...you're really pretty is all."

Scarecrow's eyes adjusted once again, though to what emotion it was portraying, (Y/N) couldn't tell. She looked away, staring at the ground.

(Scarecrow) "Are humans that susceptible to be allured by a simple face?"

Scarecrow noticed that they had gotten closer, though she made no move to push them away.

(Y/N) "Maybe? For me I'm...more allured by you than anything."

Scarecrow turned to face them again, her face unmoved by (Y/N)'s words.

(Y/N) "S-Sorry. That must sound stupid."

(Scarecrow) "It is. You are attracted to an android that cannot even reciprocate its feelings on the most basic level."

(Y/N) "...Reciprocate?"

(Y/N)'s shoulders slumped and looked at her, noticing that Scarecrow was staring at her hand moving to theirs. The hand wrapped around theirs, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

(Y/N) froze, and realizing that, Scarecrow moved back to her normal sitting position. She must have mistaken their shock as disgust.

(Scarecrow) "I will depa-"

(Y/N) "Wait!"

(Y/N) took Scarecrow's hands again, holding onto it tightly and not wanting her to leave. Slowly, she looked back at (Y/N)'s face as it closed in.

Their eyes were closed as they leaned in for a quick peck onto her lips, scrambling everything in Scarecrow's digimind.

Her eyes rapidly adjusted themselves as she was trying to process what exactly she was feeling. The sensation of (Y/N)'s lips, their emotions, her own, everything was so overwhelming.

Scarecrow remained still for a couple seconds before looking back up to (Y/N).

(Scarecrow) "...I still do not understand why you feel such attraction for a mere T-Doll-"

(Y/N) "Y-You're not just 'some' T-Doll, Scarecrow! You're just...you."

(Scarecrow) "You have said that twice now, as if I can understand what you mean."

(Y/N) "It means that there's only one of you, Scarecrow. And...!-"

(Y/N) took a deep breath to calm down, trying to defend her existence against herself was riling them up far more than they had anticipated.

(Scarecrow) "I should be exactly what my name implies. Nothing more, and nothing less."

Her reply finally got (Y/N) to steady their breathing, their lips slowly growing into a smile.

(Y/N) "If that's the case, you wouldn't be holding my hand right now. That's an emotion, you know, and I've seen you show it!...W-Well, not directly, anyway."

(Scarecrow) "...I am unable to comprehend your logic, nor can I fully process what information has been given to me."

Scarecrow's grip on (Y/N)'s hand subtly got tighter as her eyes refocused solely on theirs. Their mouth did not tremble, nor did her tone even remotely change, yet (Y/N) could tell there was a sense of hesitation.

(Scarecrow) "...I request that you assist me in understanding emotions, and your faulty logic in putting this kind of faith in me."

(Y/N)'s smile grew even bigger as they leaned into Scarecrow, embracing her gently. At first she did not move, but moved to mimic their actions by raising her arms around their back.

It felt quite awkward, but it was the gesture that mattered to (Y/N). And they hoped that she would understand that.

(Scarecrow) "If I'm careless with my words, I could end up hurting others. So I just need to be a scarecrow – I serve in silence…"

(Y/N) slowly backed off and held her shoulders, her eyes blinking for the first time at them.

(Scarecrow) "But I won't be like that with you, because no matter how I hurt you, you'll always stay close to me, won't you?"

(Y/N) "…As long as you want me, I'll be here with you."

They stayed like that for a few brief moments before Scarecrow stood up without warning, confusing (Y/N). She put on her mask and simply stared back.

(Scarecrow) "Humph, just kidding."

(Y/N) "...W...What...?"

Scarecrow leaned towards (Y/N)'s head, her mask gently bouncing off their forehead. Was that supposed to be her version of a kiss?

(Scarecrow) "That was also a joke. I genuinely meant what I asked, I simply wanted to see your reaction since you can tell when I'm portraying emotions indirectly, apparently."

(Y/N) pouted and muttered something underneath their breath. They swore Scarecrow's eyes slightly raised in amusement.

(Y/N) "Way to ruin a romantic moment..."

Scarecrow offered her hand to (Y/N), her tone unchanged.

(Scarecrow) "Well, it's a good thing you'll be giving more, won't you?"

[lutawolf]

Hi Luta!

Thank you so much for how you worded your feelings on the sex scene in ep 8. I didn’t read much of the novel but I got the same vibe you did, I definitely think the show made it seem less like a joke and a much higher stakes situation. I’m not a victim of SA nor do I have any experience in sex work so I wasn’t sure how to word my opinion in a way that was conscious of the fact that this was definitely (from Sky’s perspective) coercive.

I also think people are a little harsh on Prapai, he was making a joke (in his mind) about getting paid in sex. From what we see he’s pushy but not intimidating and has no problem picking people up when he wants sex. He had no context for Sky’s background or how sky would take his joke, so I don’t really blame him for sleeping with sky under those circumstances. From his perspective he met a cute guy and got him out of trouble, made a (definitely in poor taste) joke of a come on and the guy accepted. Consistently throughout them having sex he allows sky to set the pace and sky is an active and (apparently) enthusiastic participant, of course he thought they both had a good time! We couldn’t really expect more from him then that, considering he’s working with much less context than we as viewers are. He’s a fuck boy for sure but not a predator, he’s even shown in the episode to be a fairly considerate lover to his other hook ups.

Blegh sorry for the word vomit. I just am very frustrated about bad faith takes on what I saw as a poor choice in directorial/editing choices.

Thank you for giving me a reaction I can send to people to explain my thought process on the whole thing!! Im excited to see Pai grovel and wheedle his way into Sky’s heart as he learns more and realizes he needs to be mature for once! Here’s hoping this is a messy start to a good story

Hey nonnie!!!

Let me first say for my other readers here. I 100% respect anyone who saw the scene as sexual assault. The book could very well be covering my view point. I kept bringing up the book because I did want to help those who hadn't read it know that it isn't supposed to be sexual assault.

I truly believe the show handled this badly. Yet I'm in the mindset. It was handled badly but we know what it should be like. Let's move forward with that mindset. Hopefully we can salvage this.

To be fair guys. What is supposed to happen during sex in the book is that Sky is sad except when he has sex. That's what draws Pai in. Is this sad kid who lights up when having sex with him. Who is sensual and knows what he wants. I just don't think they were able to make that come across.

He's a total fuck boy. I can't wait to see the progress. I'm really excited to see this progress. This and the revenge part are the hardest part to transfer from book to show. The rest should be golden ✨️ So I'm looking forward to it.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my jumbled thoughts. Glad you enjoyed it! 💜💜💜

[sodadrabbles]

Hey! I really like your writing and was wondering if you could do a request! If not its totally understandable. Could you do a fic where phill and techno find a pheonix hybrid reader (like with the wings and tail) passed out in the snow? I just think it'd be kinda cool, thanks for considering my request!

Ohoho, phoenixes are my favorite mythical bird to mess with! I hope you enjoy this, I had a lot of fun writing it :]

Paring: c!Philza + c!Technoblade x phoenix!Reader (Platonic!)

Rating: Fluffy with a little mention of death.

Summary: You passed out in the snow- What happens when an old man and an anarchist find you? 1.4k words

Cold. That was probably the most simple way you could describe the situation you were in. But it isn’t a simple cold. It’s a freezing wind that pierces your skin with ice and sends a chill down to your bones. You could feel it deep inside you, like a curse or illness. But it was just the freezing arctic winds. You should have been prepared for this situation, you knew it would happen, yet you let yourself wander this far. 

Snow swirled in your vision as the wind whipped against you, freezing and unrelenting. You shiver again and try to curl your wings closer to your body, but the joints where the fiery appendages meet your back ached. You had been flying for too long, and now you have had your wings stretched even longer. The melting heat that usually poured from the ends of your feathers was starting to feel lukewarm at best, and that told you clearly that time was running out.

The arctic just isn’t the place for a phoenix, as warm as their cores might be, the icy arctic can put them out in an instant. It’s unforgiving, it made you question how anyone could live out here. But you had heard the rumors of the two men that lived far away from the Greater DreamSMP, sheltered away in the far snowy tundra. But in your state of ever-growing drowsiness, you couldn’t recall their names. 

You sigh, a tired and heavy sigh, as you finally let your wings rest. The large limbs droop and you can see, at the very tips of your largest feathers, where your fire burns the hottest, your flame could no longer melt the snow under them. Your time had come, though a few days early. But you showed no fear of the process, one you experienced so many times before, as you let your body slump to its knees, before falling forward into the crunchy snow. 

‘I’ll wake up in a few hours.’ You thought to yourself, feeling the now cold wings pressing into your back. ‘Just a little nap for now.’

---

“I just don’t see why I needed to come with you, Techno.” The blonde man huffs, pulling his heavy coat tighter to him. The snow had been picking up fast, the winds howling louder than the pack of wolves Technoblade had adopted. The piglin walking beside him was much less bundled up, the warm blood of his kind seeming enough to keep him warm through the oncoming blizzard.

Techno just snorts in response to his old friend, so unused to the snow, keeping his pace against the freezing wind. He had just been minding his business, brewing some potions when he swore he saw what he could only describe as ‘a column of white-hot fire’ sprout up from distance. It, quite frankly, scared the shit out of him. So, he grabbed Phil and dragged him out to investigate the strange occurrence.

After a few more moments of fighting the harsh weather, the two arrived at where the fire had come from. In its wake lie what was now a puddle, and scorched grass beneath that in the shape of a person. The two men glanced at each other before Techno stepped forward and reached out to touch the grass. Before he could, however, the spot of the grass that was once scorched burst into flames again, ash rising from wherever the fire touched. It swirled in the warm light, moving against the wind to take its shape. Despite how the wind roared the ash moved so calmly and in such a distinct way, forming the silhouette of a person. Of you. 

Once all the ash of your ‘death’ had clumped back into your form, burning red light filled the cracks and sealed the process. You felt your consciousness slip back into place, your memories, your being. You felt the heavy weight of your wings, the light flicking of your birdish tail, and the warm crackle of your fiery feathers.

And then you fell.

You had expected this, and yet as you tensed your muscles in preparation for impact, you found yourself getting caught by two separate pairs of hands. You open your eyes and blink, glancing at the two men now staring bewildered at you. Wait, there are other people here?

You gasp and scramble to push away from the two, but the older one- A blonde wearing a green bucket hat- Held tight onto your shoulder, holding you in place. He spoke, his voice was calming and warm, unexpectedly paternal. “Easy,” he breathed, using his other hand to steady you. “We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

You’re hesitant to comply, but carefully you steady yourself to your feet. You stare at the blonde man, his eyes heavy from many years of living. It surprised you a bit to see another immortal face to face. But as you looked closer you noticed the way the part of his robe that wasn’t torn refused to move with the wind, it hit you. An elytrian. 

You snap out of your thoughts as a gruff voice to your left draws your attention. You glance to see a large piglin standing there, his eyes still wide in shock. He was tall and broad and just standing near him made you feel small. You didn’t like feeling small. Out of instinct, your wings spread out. Not to full length, but enough to calm the anxious feeling of a prey animal being stared down by a predator. You feel the elytrian’s presence disappear from beside you. “What the- Mate, you’re on fire!” He exclaims, staring at the way your feathers spark and crackle like a fireplace. 

Yeah,” you laugh at the elytrian. Had he never seen a phoenix before? “That’s what phoenix wings do.” Your response doesn’t earn any laugh from the two, only more confused stares. The piglin is the first to speak up. “A… Phoenix?” The way he says the word makes you step back. This time the elytrian speaks up. “Aren’t phoenixes extinct?”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Had they really? Sure, it had been a while since you met another of your kind. Phoenixes were not social creatures, they preferred their seclusion and stuck to their own. You just assumed…

“No, clearly not.” You straighten your back and try to puff your wings. You wouldn’t let yourself be intimidated by the two hybrids. “I’m here, so we aren’t extinct.” 

---

After you explain why you were in the arctic in the first place, you managed to earn the two’s names. Philza and Technoblade. You had recognized the two names, you heard stories about the two Anarchists from your friends in the Greater DreamSMP- How Techno had taken down L’manburg twice, and Phil helped him turn New L’manburg into L’manhole. You had admired those stories- Admired the bravery it took to stand up to corruption.

It was the remaining members of L’Manburg that drove you from your home in the Greater DreamSMP- With Tommy building his hotel near your home and being unable to find safety in Las Nevadas with Quackity, you wanted to find somewhere to go where you would be unbothered.

Though you must admit the life you found wasn’t what you expected. Phil allowed you to stay with them in the arctic, after much arguing from Technoblade. So you built yourself a home. You got to meet Ranboo formally- You had seen the ender wandering the Prime Path a few times, as well as near Snowchester. You weren’t too fond of him, but you learned to accept him. 

You finally were able to learn of what happened to your species. Techno had an astounding collection of books. His library was impressive, but he never allowed you inside. He claimed your wings made him too nervous, and that made you laugh. The worries made sense- You once set part of Phil’s house ablaze as he was teaching you how to brew potions. 

Techno had handed you a book with no title, its leather cover stamped with a fiery bird. The piglin watched you as you flipped through the pages- Phoenix hybrids had, in fact, been hunted to extinction a long time ago. You remained to be the only one and would be for the rest of your life. 

And somehow, this didn’t bother you. You found all you needed right here- even closure.

[plus-size-reader]

Why

Cato Hadley x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2108 words

Warnings: none

Summary:  Reader is a tribute for the Hunger Games, no one thinks she’s going to make it until Cato steps in. The one thing you don’t understand is, Why does he care? 

Updated version of “Why Does He Care” an old fan favorite. 

—————————————————————————————————

They knew you wouldn’t win. 

It hadn’t even registered as a possibility in most of their minds, but that didn’t matter all that much. 

All the game makers cared about was that you made a show of it, and if you could, got stabbed in view of one of the thousands of cameras surrounding the arena.

That was all you had to do. 

You weren’t the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest that your district had to offer and everyone seemed to have already come to terms with the fact that you would be leaving the arena in a body bag.

They just didn’t see how a woman of your status and stature could ever hope to compete with others in the games. Against the Careers, a group of highly trained young people whose lives revolved around being able to win, you would surely meet your end. 

However, you weren’t going to just accept defeat right off the bat. 

Even if you didn’t win, you were going to put up one hell of a fight once that canon went off. You owed that to your family, and your district, and yourself. 

No one in their right mind wanted to participate in the Hunger Games,and you certainly didn’t want to either, but you had been chosen to represent your district and you weren’t going to shy away from the responsibility. 

At the very least, you had to try. 

If nothing else, the fact that no one believed in you could serve as an extra push, the push you would need to take down as many other tributes as possible in the process. 

You knew that you could do that. 

Though, that fire did sort of dull as soon as you walked into the large training room, surrounded by all the other tributes from all the other districts. Once you got a look at them up close, you were less sure of yourself than you had ever been. 

How quickly it had all changed.

From the moment you walked into that room, which was more of a cell of brushed aluminum and cool steel, you were forced to recon with the reality of the situation. 

This was happening. 

You were going to die. 

The way in which you would die wasn’t something you were all that fond of considering, but as best you could tell, the Career pack would be to blame. 

Stories of what they were capable of, training tirelessly to volunteer for their games and slaughter the competition were widespread all over Panem but you couldn’t have imagined how intimidating they were in real life. 

Each one of them was a skilled, and accurate, death machine and you had no chance of surviving an altercation with even the weakest among them, who you had ultimately decided was Glimmer. 

She was talented and smart but lacked the determination that the others had. 

Even in her case though, you could see what they always said about the Careers. They were raised to believe there was no other point to their lives other than to win the Hunger Games. 

If they didn’t win, they weren’t worth anything, not that it would matter. If they didn’t win, they would end up just the same as all the rest of you, in a shallow grave somewhere. 

That was just how it was. 

You did your best to keep to yourself at first, not wanting to elicit any more violence than absolutely necessary right off the bad. It was no secret to you that the other tributes didn’t take you seriously. 

The last thing you wanted was for them to try and prove themselves at your expense before you were out in that arena. 

Unfortunately, the other tributes, namely the Careers, had already made up their minds. In the few days that you had been training, they had been making fun of you the entire time.

For them, it was one big joke.

When they looked at you, it was clear that all they saw was the first person they were going to stick their swords into. They didn’t take you seriously at all and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you blamed them. 

Each time you threw a punch or swung your axe at a target, they hooted and hollered from their place on the sidelines and called you out for each imperfection they saw in your maneuvers, and they weren’t wrong. 

You had no idea what you were doing. 

This was all new for you, because where you were from, hand to hand combat just wasn’t something you would have ever come across. Before now, you hadn’t even seen most of the things in front of you here. 

You were out of your element.

By the end of the first week, you hadn’t even begun to make any progress. However, there was one thing that had changed and you couldn’t even pinpoint when or why it had happened. 

At some point, Cato had stopped criticizing you in the same way his compatriots were.

You weren’t sure why he would even bother, but seeing as you didn’t really talk to him, you couldn’t ask. It was much easier to just be silently grateful for the break, and try to focus on what you were doing. 

While it wasn’t looking good to start, you didn’t want to sabotage your chances of survival with any more wasted time.  

The other Careers had noticed the change in him too, but not one of them dared to comment on it, even if it didn’t make any sense to them. The anger that they would risk in doing so just wouldn’t be worth getting answers. 

Instead, they let him do whatever it was he was doing, waving it off as some kind of tactical maneuver. He knew what he was doing, and it wasn’t their place to ask too many questions and get him off his game. 

When Cato first headed in your direction, closing the vast distance between you on the training floor, you assumed that he was intent on proving to you just how out of place you were here. 

...But that couldn't have been farther from the truth. 

In truth, what Cato was doing was far from a tactical measure. More than anything, he just couldn’t bring himself to make fun of you anymore. 

He didn’t think that your weight alone was enough to warrant the constant abuse you were suffering. 

Besides, It was clear that you were putting in a lot of work to get better, which was more than most of the other tributes were doing. You weren’t going to take this lying down, which he could respect. 

From the looks of it, your technique just needed some polishing, and you would be just as good a fighter as anyone here, with the exception of himself.

“You need to strike higher” he prompted, coming out of nowhere and nearly shocking you out of your fighting stance. You had been so focused that you didn’t even hear him approach. 

Still, it didn’t occur to you that he might have been trying to help at first. After all this time, he didn’t strike you as the friendly, just trying to help type. He was much more of the scowl and stab sort of person. 

You couldn’t be blamed for feeling that way. 

“Strike higher” he repeated, closing the space between you to wrap his arm around your frame, moving your axe in the exact way he had been telling you to do. 

There was nothing snide or rude in his tone, but you couldn’t focus on that.

All you could think about were his strong hands on your body, and the clear concern he had for whatever in the world he could have wanted from you. 

You tensed under his touch, desperately trying to decipher how you had gotten to this point or what you were supposed to do now that you were here. 

There was nothing particularly romantic about his touch, which you understood, but it was still foreign to be on the receiving end of. No one had ever held you like this, under any circumstances.

“Hit here, not here” he muttered, his voice far too close to your ear this time, forcing a breath from your lungs you weren’t aware you’d trapped there. He moved the axe, and your arm attached to it, to demonstrate what he meant. 

...And as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. 

When he moved his arms, in succession with his words, he hit the target at jugular height, instead of in the trunk where you had been aiming.

It was a much better hit than you had been landing all day, showing how much more experience he had with this than you. 

“Thanks” you muttered, glancing at him quickly, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t look at you but you wouldn’t have been so lucky.

Cato looked down just at the same moment as you turned your head to take in his profile. 

You expected him to say something about it but he offered nothing, content to just stare back down at you with a slight smirk on his face. 

“Somebody bigger than you is going to be able to push back if you aim here” he explained finally, lightly resting the palm of his right hand against your abdomen where you’d been aiming before. 

It made sense, of course. 

“If you aim at the weakest part, it doesn’t matter how much stronger an opponent is” he hummed, this time bringing that same hand up to where your throat was, not missing the way you gulped under his touch. 

“And you can’t kill anyone aiming at their ankles” he laughed, shrugging at that, as if he shouldn’t have to explain that part to you. Even someone who knew nothing about this wasn’t going to be shocked at that. 

Cato just didn’t want you to think that he was playing some sort of sick game with you. He was really trying to help, even if that wasn’t really in his nature. 

Never in his life had Cato cared about anyone, or been drawn to another person like he was with you. 

His entire life was all about winning the games, and there was nothing more than that. 

That was all he’d ever cared about. 

...But for some reason, making sure that you survived this whole thing was becoming really important to him. 

There was just something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on, but whatever it was, he didn’t have all that much time to figure it out. This whole thing was happening, whether he wanted it to or not. 

The best thing he could do for you was prepare you to survive, with or without him. 

“Oh, I couldn’t kill anyone” you hummed, doing your very best to be as nonchalant about it as you could. You were doing your best to figure out how to protect yourself out there but you had already made you mind up on that front. 

You weren’t going to kill anyone. 

It was something you had decided on before you even knew your name had been drawn the day of the reaping, but this was new information for Cato. 

New information that almost shocked him into silence. 

Cato had always known that he would need to kill someone, at some point. It was never a question in his mind, or something that even had any effect on him. It was part of his life, and to hear that someone else had never even considered it was new for him. 

If you didn’t kill anyone the entire time you were in the arena, you would die. 

You had to know that. 

Surely you knew that. 

“If you don’t, you’re going to die” he spoke, the words leaving his lips before he even had time to react. There was a finality to it, something you hadn’t seen coming, and at first, you thought it may have been a joke. 

The two of you really didn’t know each other all that well, or at all, so making jokes seemed sort of strange but it wasn’t necessarily something that upset you. 

You were just shocked at his urgency. 

This really was something that was bothering him, but there was one thing that was still bothering you. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him in your life, and as flattered as you were that he cared about what happened to you, it didn’t make any sense. 

Why did he care about someone like you? 

[stedesparasol]

if you're still doing the prompts ask thing, stede & ed for the manny/single parent au pls!

I am still taking prompts!  And boy oh boy I did not expect to exceed 1500 words on any of these little fics but here we go I guess.

***

Well.  That wasn’t what Stede had been expecting.

Edward was a little bit of a stuffy, old fashioned name.  And Teach, well, that made Stede think of a professor.  And however silly that kind of assumption may be, when he had spotted this man’s name in the listings, he’d pictured a bespectacled man in a cardigan, not…  Well.

“Stede Bonnet?” the bearded, leather-clad man standing in his doorway asked him.

“Y- uh, yes,” Stede replied, apparently having forgotten his manners in his mild alarm.  Pulling himself together, he held out his hand.  “You must be Edward,” he said, hoping there wasn’t too much of a question in his tone as he spoke.

“Yeah, or Ed – whichever, I don’t mind.”

“Well.  Come in, Ed,” he said, stepping back and allowing this Hells Angels lookalike into his home, wondering how far into the interview process he would have to get before telling the man to his face that he was absolutely not what he was looking for.

For now, as they settled down on the sofa, he prepared to give Ed the usual spiel that he was interviewing a lot of nannies (which was true) and imply that there was therefore a lot of competition (which was false).  The fact of the matter was, not one of them had been the right fit.  Certainly, some of them had seemed to him to be perfectly acceptable, but ultimately, it was the children’s opinions that mattered, and both Alma and Louis managed to have complaints about every single one.  Part of him wondered if they were going to react this way to every nanny at first, and he should just select one himself and hope for the best.  But he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t be able to settle with anyone even slightly insufficient.  He spent enough time feeling woefully inadequate as a parent, and didn’t want to be responsible with lumping his children with an inferior version of himself.

At least that wouldn’t be a concern in this case.  No matter how the rest of this process went, Stede was sure that nobody think to compare him to Edward Teach, for better or for worse.  Although, admittedly, the man did look a little less intimidating now that he’d taken off the leather jacket and folded it across the arm of the sofa.  Aside from the tattoos, at least, but Stede had to remind himself that lots of people were covered in tattoos these days.  It didn’t make them a knife wielding criminal.  Plus, the purple t-shirt definitely took the edge off.  As a matter of fact, he was sure that was Alma’s favourite colour.

“So, it said you were looking for a part time nanny?”

Stede blinked back to reality.  He had almost forgotten he was supposed to be interviewing the man.  “Yes, that’s right,” he said.  “Just for the times I can’t be around, during the work week.  My ex-wife and her husband have the children most of the time, but they’re about to go away for an extended period, and Alma and Louis have to stay in school, so we decided it would be for the best if they lived with me for a while, but I can’t get away from work as often as I’d like and there’s nobody around to help me take care of them and–”

“Hey, hey,” Ed interrupted, which was a relief, because Stede had been beginning to feel like all of his concerns were about to tumble out of his mouth all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping he didn’t look too flustered.  “It’s just… a stressful time, you understand.”

“’Course,” Ed nodded, and his voice was surprisingly reassuring.  “That’s why I’m here.”

Stede felt strangely relaxed at this, considering Ed hadn’t actually done anything to ease his tension beyond saying a few words.  But he seemed even less intimidating, now, which was definitely a good thing, so Stede offered him a grateful smile.

Ed leaned back in his seat.  “Carry on,” he said gently.

And so, Stede cleared his throat and tried to get back on track with his planned interview which had very much fallen by the wayside.  “You’ve been with this agency for a while,” he noted.

“Yeah,” Ed nodded.

“Can I ask… can I ask what drew you to this line of work?”  That had not exactly been on Stede’s interview cards, but sitting opposite this particular man, he couldn’t help but ask it.

“You’re thinking I don’t look the type?” Ed asked, practically reading his mind.

Stede nodded weakly.  “Yes, something like that.”

Ed grinned, and Stede got the feeling that he wasn’t unused to questions like that.  “I just like kids, y’know?” he shrugged.  “And I grew up in a pretty rough household, so I know how important those early influences can be.  Things really could have gone either way for me, and luckily I turned out alright.  So I wanna make sure the same’s true for the kids I look after.”

Stede wondered if any of this should have been a red flag to him.  Right now, he had to admit that he was growing fonder of this man by the second.  “That’s… well, that’s very noble,” he finally managed to respond.

Ed shrugged.  “Plus, it’s one of the few careers where I get to blow people’s minds with my rubbish magic tricks,” he said.  At that, he immediately reached over and pulled a coin out from behind Stede’s ear.  “See, do that when you’re working in an office and I reckon they’d think you were nuts.  A seven year old thinks it’s the best thing ever.”

Stede couldn’t help but smile down at the coin in between Ed’s fingers, and briefly wondered if that meant he had the mind of a seven year old.

But now that the situation was more relaxed, he was able to actually conduct a proper interview with Ed, getting all of the important questions out of the way, as well as a few unimportant ones (although, sadly, Ed wouldn’t reveal how he did his magic tricks).  And while Stede knew that the children would have the final say, as he said goodbye to Ed with plans to introduce Alma and Louis to him at the weekend, he couldn’t help but feel that maybe things would be different this time.

***

A shout from the children’s playroom startled Stede from his book.

He had admittedly grown a little nervous in the build up to introducing his children to Ed.  Mostly, he was worried they would take one look at him and be convinced that their father had sold them to a gang leader.  He had even warned them in advance that the man they were about to meet was very little like the previous nannies he had introduced them to.  (Alma, in a tone wise beyond her years, had informed him that this could only be a good thing.)  But when Ed arrived at the door and greeted the children by producing a coin from behind each of their heads simultaneously, they both seemed perfectly happy to give him a chance – especially after he let them keep the coins, with a wink directed towards Stede who tried not to look too pleased.

Once proper introductions had taken place and Stede was satisfied that Alma and Louis were not going to run away in fear, he initiated the customary approach of letting Ed spend some time on his own with them, so that the children could suss him out and come to their own conclusions without their father breathing down their necks.  So he sent them off to the playroom for an hour or so, while he settled himself in the living room with a book and a cup of tea, keeping an ear out for any disturbances.

And he had been sure everything had been going swimmingly, until he heard the shout.

He leaped up from his seat at once, tossing his book aside in a manner that would usually be extremely unlike him, but this was a cause for alarm.  The shout had come from Ed, so at least he was fairly sure that his children weren’t in any kind of danger, which would have been his first concern – but he had to wonder what on earth had happened for Ed to be raising his voice so extremely.  So… aggressively?  Rushing down the corridor, Stede was halfway towards the room when he heard his daughter giving an almighty yell, which was enough for him to run the rest of the way and burst the door open, and…

Well.  That wasn’t what Stede had been expecting.

Ed was pressed against the wall, with Louis wrapping his arms around his legs so that he couldn’t walk, while Alma stood triumphantly in front of him with a wooden sword held at his throat.  All three of their heads swivelled round at Stede’s dramatic entrance, while he stood there in mildly stunned silence, not sure what he’d been planning on saying but knowing he couldn’t exactly say it now.

“Sorry, were we too loud?” Ed asked, as casually as if he had a toy sword held to his throat every day.

“Silence, dog!” Alma demanded viciously, and then turned back to her father.  “We’re playing pirates,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“I see,” Stede responded, looking back at the man held captive by two small children.  “Everything alright there, Ed?”

“Great,” Ed responded, nodding his head towards Alma.  “She’s about to make me walk the plank.”

“Any last words before we send you overboard?” Alma asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Ed replied, clearly thinking on his feet.  “If you kill me, there’ll be nobody to find all the coins hidden behind your ears.”

Alma looked as though she was considering this for a while, before finally heaving an almighty sigh.  “Fine,” she said, withdrawing the sword from Ed’s throat.  “We’ll let you live.  This time.”  And then she walked over to her father, sword down by her side.  She stopped in front of him and looked up at him, a serious expression on her face.  “We like this one,” she said sagely.

From his position on the floor, and still clinging to the man’s legs as if his life depended on it, Louis nodded enthusiastically.  “Can we keep him?”

Stede looked between his two children, and then back up at Ed.

Ed grinned at him.

“I… think that can be arranged.”

(Find this fic on ao3 where, against my better judgement, I am writing more chapters.)

[snowbearyy]

Can I get the reaction of the Brothers randomly getting dumped by MC with no reason, only to find out later that MC was insecure and thought it was better since he such a powerful demon that he was too good for MC? Thank you!

(This took forever. Sorry! And I changed formats about halfway through, so that's why Levi's is like that. I didn't really know how to convert it... 😂)

Lucifer

He would be very angry and upset but he wouldn't show it

He'd probably stay in his room for hours during the day just to avoid you

When he'd cross your path, he'd just nod awkwardly

The brothers would be so frustrated with this because there'd be a weird tension in the house

But he's mature to a point, so after a few days he'd want to sit down and have a serious conversation with you

After you tell him the reason you broke up with him, he'd be baffled but relieved at the same time

Relieved that he didn't do anything to hurt you, but baffled by the fact that you felt that way

"MC... I understand that I am a powerful demon, but you are a powerful human. I would not be so infatuated with you if I did not believe you were strong, capable, and worthy. I have never once thought I was too good for you. I love you. You're the only person in the three worlds I want to be with." He grabs your hand, "Now, would you be mine again?"

Mammon

He would be crushed

He'd refuse to come out of his room

When he'd have to, he wouldn't make eye contact with anybody

If he had something to tell you, he'd ask one of his brothers to tell you for him

Everyone would definitely be annoyed

When you tell him how you feel, he has conflicting emotions

He doesn't know whether to be flattered that you viewed him so highly or concerned at your level of insecurity

"I mean, yeah, we're powerful demons, but I didn't know you... I- I mean, why would The Great Mammon be with anybody he didn't think was equally as great?! There's no reason for you to be insecure around me. I love you, you know! So just... don't worry about stuff like that, okay?"

Levi

This man would be beyond shattered.

If you think he holed himself up in his room a lot now, you ain't seen nothing yet.

The vibes surrounding his room would be just dreadful.

Nobody would even bother asking him to come out for anything.

You knew he had snacks and stuff in there, but you were concerned about his nutrition so you decided to check on him. When you knocked, there was no answer. The door wasn't locked and there was no request for a password. When you walked in, you saw him in front of his TV with his headphones on, playing a game. You tap on his shoulder and he flinches, face dropping as soon as he sees you. "Levi, can I talk to you?" you ask. He tries to seem nonchalant but you can tell he's very nervous. You explain to him everything you've been feeling and he looks confused, but a bit more relaxed. "You... felt that way about me?" Processing this information takes a few moments for him. "Well, I... I don't really see why you would! I guess I could be considered a powerful demon, but what good is it when I'm like this?! Please don't.. feel that way about a shut-in like me. You're far more amazing! I don't consider myself 'too good' for anything, especially not you! So can we.. go back to the way things were? Please?"

Satan

On the surface, he would be very mature about it. He wouldn't lock himself away in his room or avoid you.

He would try to act like everything was normal

In private, though, he'd be fuming

He'd get really irritated at minor things and snap at his brothers occasionally

Though, he would start to suspect there were strange reasons as to why you broke up with him

He would confront you

When you explain it to him, he'd be really happy

Like an "oh, that's it? we can work it out" type feeling

"I understand, MC. I realize it can be a bit intimidating, but I hope you know nobody views you as a lesser being. You're smart and wonderful and you've changed our lives for the better. I'm especially grateful to you. Because you taught me what it's like to truly love someone. And if you allowed me to continue loving you, I'd greatly appreciate it. Even if you said no, I'd do it anyway."

Asmodeus

He'd be super confused

Like, what did he do wrong?

He'd take a few days to himself

And then after that, he'd convince himself he was back to normal but everybody could tell he's upset

But I think he'd be really upfront about wanting to know the reason why

So it wouldn't take long for him to ask for an explanation and understand everything

He'd also be shocked that that was your reason

"MC... We're totally different species! It's pointless to compare yourself to me. You have so many great qualities, too! I could list them for hours. And I will! But right now, I'm telling you this: I love you more than anything! So I'm not letting you go!"

Beelzebub

He'd feel so guilty and worried that he did something to hurt you

But he'd respect your decision

He wouldn't really know how to treat you after that

Should he give you some space or act like nothing happened?

Because of this, he'd probably end up distancing himself from you regardless

Explaining everything to him gives him peace of mind

And now he's determined to build you up

"I'm sorry you felt that way. If there's anything I can do to make you feel less insecure, please let me know and I'll do it. But you're not weak by any means. And I'm proud of you every day. So, please don't compare yourself. You are perfect. And I love you so much."

Belphegor

He would be... depressed

He'd sleep a lot more than he usually does

He wouldn't blame you, but he'd be upset with himself

He wouldn't want you to see him so he'd hide in the attic or his room most of the day

After talking to him, though, he feels better

He understands you 100%

"I can see why you'd feel like that, but... you're too important to me to give up. I've never compared you to anyone because you're so special. If you think anything can stop me from loving you, you're wrong."

[slasherhaven]

Hello, can I make a request for Thomas? Something about him getting bullied/attacked/picked on by either people from the town or coworkers in the factory and physically strong reader standing up for him and openly liking him/finding him handsome? It can lead to a nswf moment or not, and idk if they would know each other personally prior to that... pls female reader if possible. <3 I love your work.

Unfortunately, no NSFW in this one. Just a steamy kiss!

Thomas’ Future S/O defending him against a bully

Word Count: 2311

You had been working at the meat processing plant for a while now, and since your first week you had befriended the silent and mysterious Thomas Hewitt. You first saw him when you were being given your introductory tour, your less than friendly tour guide had pointed him out and told you to just avoid him, but that only made you more curious about him.

You understandably figured that he just wasn't a friendly guy or that he had caused some trouble in the past but you quickly realised that wasn't quite right. You hadn't even finished your first week there when you realised that he wasn't a problem at all, it was actually the others that bothered him all day, while he just remained silent, kept his head down, carried on with his work, and ignored them.

He wasn't the problem, they were.

So, on that Friday, you marched over to his work station at the back of the room and asked him to have lunch with you. He seemed cautious of you, like you must be pulling a prank on him, before agreeing.

From then on, you and Thomas would always have lunch together, and a friendship formed. You carried most of the conversation but eventually he took to scribbling down what he wanted to say on some paper. You weren't sure if he couldn't talk or just didn't talk, either way you didn't mind. You had earned his trust, at least as much as anyone could right now, because you had always been so kind to him. Yes, he had thought it was a joke at first, but he really was starting to realise that you were being sincere. You were his friend.

You were one of the last to check out at the end of the day, often using the time after everyone had left to speak with Thomas some more. You really enjoyed your time together, even if he wasn't the most talkative person, you liked him.

After checking out, you headed back to the work floor, where you saw Thomas finishing up. But with him, was one of the worst offenders when it came to picking on him. One of the men who thought something of himself, thought himself to be better than everyone, especially Thomas.

He was, once again, berating the taller man. You rolled your eyes and walked over to them. "Get outta here, Pete. Ain't you got something better to do?" you sighed, hoping that the man would just leave without argument.

"You don't gotta defend him because you feel bad for him" Pete scoffed, looking Thomas up and down like he was some sort of spectacle.

"I don't feel bad for him, you're just an asshole and nobody should be subjected to having to listen to you" you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Oh come on, it don't bother ya, right?" Pete asked Thomas, acting as if the insults had just been some friendly banter but you knew better than that. "Probably doesn't even understand what I'm saying" he laughed when the other man didn't respond. "He's just some animal" his smile fell, his expression turning darker, as he glared up at him.

"Oh please, he's a better man than you. Smarter, kinder, more empathetic, better looking. You've got nothing on him, Pete" you glared at the man, suddenly becoming defensive over your friend. Your words made Thomas look down at you, shocked by what you had to say and even more by the sincerity.

"Better looking?" Pete scoffed, clearly amused by your compliment. You cringed a little, knowing you had accidently opened the floodgates, so you made sure to speak before he did.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately? I pity your poor wife" you looked him up and down disapprovingly, like the sight of him repulsed you. And in maybe ways it did.

This time, Pete didn't respond, he just glared before taking a step towards you. Though you were quite ready to handle yourself, you just looked up as Thomas moved to stand slightly in front of you, staring down at the man almost threateningly.

Pete looked up at the much taller man, looking like he was considering his chances before deciding that he would definitely lose. So, he backed down, glaring at both of you, before grabbing his coat and heading out of the door. Leaving only you and Thomas on the work floor.

"I hate that guy. I don't know why he's always picking on you" you let out a huff of annoyance as you dropped your arms to your sides.

Thomas turned back to you as you spoke...he could give you a few reasons...

"Thanks for standing up for me just then but you don't need too, I can handle myself. Anyway, I'm used to the men around here, most of them are pigs" your face and voice softened as you looked up at him.

But he still hung his head. 'Most of them are pigs', he's been called much worse but did you see him like that? Women definitely tended to avoid him like the plague, even though he really wasn't a threat to him, they seemed to think he was. Did you think that?

"Wish they were more like you" you chuckled, making him look at you again. You could see the surprise in his eyes and that made you frown a little. "Oh don't look at me like that. You're the best man I've met around here. Trust me, I feel more comfortable around you than our other co-workers" you told him sincerely but he still adverted his gaze, not believing you.

"Hey, come on, I mean it. I'm not messing with you. Y'know I wouldn't do that to you" you frowned a little, gently placing your hands on his arms. He had stopped flinching away from your touch now, something that he used to to regularly. "You need somebody to help you see how good you actually are..." you told him before insisting, "I meant everything I said, y'know."

His gaze met yours, curious but shy. You had noticed that he had rather expressive eyes.

"We both know how people look at you and I hate it because it's so wrong. I hate even more that you believe them" you sighed as you lowered your hands, stepping back to comfortably leaning back against his worktable.

"You are smart, smarter than anyone gives you credit for, all because you don't talk but that doesn't matter" you shook your head in disapproval. "You're kind and caring. You're always so sweet to me even though people can be so cruel to you. You stood up for me back there even though you didn't have too" you pointed out, "and I know you don't think it, that's clear enough to see, but...well, I think you're pretty damn handsome. And I'm sure I've told you that before".

You have...you have told him that before, always so unashamed about finding him attractive, but he always thought you were messing around.

"I know I've never seen you without the mask-" you continued, noticing how he tensed at the mention of the mask, "-but that doesn't bother me. I can see enough of your face to know you're attractive and you have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen" you compliment. A smile gracing your face when you saw his blush over the top of his mask.

Only then, you realised that you were speaking a lot and probably being a little overwhelming. Maybe he wasn't blushing from the flattery but from embarrassment or discomfort and that wasn't what you wanted at all.

"I'm sorry. I'm probably being a lot right now, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable" you apologised but he quickly shook his head to reassure you. "You don't mind it?" you asked and he shook his head again.

"Well, good" you smiled before reaching out and taking one of his larger hands in yours. "This isn't really how I wanted to bring it up, after an argument with some asshole at work, but...I've never lied to you, Thomas. I really do like you" you told him.

He still didn't talk but he did give your hand a small squeeze, a silent 'I like you too' that made you smile before gently guiding him closer to you. He stepped forward cautiously, like he was waiting for you to burst out laughing and for the hidden audience to come out laughing at him for thinking that he could ever have this for even a moment.

"This okay?" even though you knew he wasn't dumb like everyone else seemed to think, you sometimes worried you were taking advantage of him because he didn't talk and tended to just let things happen to him. For somebody so large and intimidating, he could be rather timid around you.

But he nodded.

You let go of his hand but only to place your hands on his shoulders, leaning up on your toes to carefully press a light kiss to his lips, ignoring the feel of the mask. You had actually planned on inviting him around for dinner, rather than approaching this in the middle of the factory, but this would have to do because it felt like the right moment. Oh well.

Thomas' hands instinctively rested on your waist to support you, since you had to strain on your toes to even reach up to him.

You had always found his height attractive but you couldn't deny it was a little bit of an obstacle right now. Thankfully, he also lent down so that you could relax a little and not have to strain so much to meet his lips.

But as quick as your lips touched his, you pulled away again, gaze scanning his face for a reaction.

His hands were still holding your waist, not wanting to move them and alert you to their presence just in case you became aware to them and decided you wanted them off of you, but also not wanting to pull them away and stop touching you.

He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck,  neither of you minding how he lent down for you to be able to do so.

Gaze closely scanning your face, he realised that you were watching him expectantly and Thomas froze up for a moment. You were waiting for him to do something, you wanted him to make the next move. For a moment he didn't think he could but your presence put him at ease, you always did.

You have always been so kind, so honest, and so accepting of him. Whenever you came around with that smile on your face, Thomas couldn't ignore the fuzzy feeling he got inside or the smile on his own face.

So, Thomas lent in again and kissed you.

It felt easy with you, it felt right, like this was what you were supposed to be doing. And he hoped that this was the start of something.

The kiss was a tad more forceful than you had anticipated but you blamed it on pent up emotion, and you weren't complaining at all. In fact, one of your hands moved to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss a little. You just couldn't help yourself.

At first you had control of the kiss, Thomas following your lead, learning from you. But he slowly became more confident. His hold on your waist becoming a little firmer, more sure, and taking the lead in the kiss, making you sigh happily into his mouth.

You guided Thomas a little closer, welcoming him into your personal space, and he moved willingly. He couldn't be close enough to you. He picked up on your eagerness, and even if it confused him, he didn't want to disappoint.

Each time one of you made an attempt to deepen the kiss, the other reciprocated it. The hand, that wasn't on the back of his neck, slipped over his chest and to his waist, wanting to feel more of him.

Both of you were a little surprised when your back hit the table behind you but you couldn't help but smile when Thomas' hands gripped your hips, easily lifting you up and sitting you atop the sturdy table.

Now, Thomas was able to straight up and press his body to yours better. Your arms returned to their place around his neck, sitting as close to the edge of the table as possible so that you could feel his strong form against you.

Maybe the two of you were getting a little carried away considering where you were...

But neither of you could help it. You had been pining after him for a while and Thomas felt the same. Plus, the amount of affection he was feeling and receiving in this moment was just overwhelming to him.

Just as you were completely forgetting where you were, the sound of a door slamming snapped you both out of the moment and made you pull away from each other. Both of you flustered as Thomas took a step away from you, the two of you turning to the sound.

Then the supervisor walked in, seeming surprised to see anyone still here. "What are you two still doing here. Get home, I need to lock up" he was more annoyed by you both than anything but you didn't plan on hanging around much longer.

"Sorry, Boss" you apologised as you grabbed your coat. "C'mon, Tommy, I'll drive you home" you offered as you turned back to him. Thomas nodded without hesitation and followed you out of the building, neither of you noticing the glance you both received from the supervisor.

Smiling up at Thomas, you wrapped your arm around his and guided him to your car. You knew that he usually walked to and from work, but you didn't mind giving him a lift at all.

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

-

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[dawsons-justice]

He Promised, You Trusted.

Part Two to “I Promise, You Trust”

A/N: Reader is between 14-17, so this is a Father Figure!Antonio x Reader. No romance, 100% platonic. 

TW: Nothing horribly graphic, some mild angst, but mostly just to lead up to the fluff

Masterlist

It sure was cold outside. Chicago had been cold, but Minnesota somehow was colder. Your aunt had apologized she couldn't pick you up from school but it wasn't really her fault. She had to pick up some extra shifts to keep up with the bills. You're just glad she let you stay with her. 8 months ago, you really had no idea where you would end up.

8 months ago...

Detective Dawson ran off to make some calls, leaving you to your own thoughts. You noticed the worried glances of his coworkers watching you from the unit floor. You didn’t know any of them, they were all sorta intimidating in their own way, well, except for the woman with brown hair, she looked nice. It just felt better to block them out and focus on the mug in your hands. The hot chocolate had gotten cold in the time it took you to process everything and really you haven’t truly processed anything.

Dawson came back in the room, his face muddled with several emotions. There was some stress, determination and anger but you made out the sympathy on his features most of all. Most people don't want sympathy, but you were just glad someone was caring enough to do so. Trailing behind him was another cop, older, you'd seen him before, just didn't know his name.

"You got anyone we can call?" Antonio asks. you had to wrack your brain a bit. It hadn’t occurred to you that this would be important. "I have an aunt. I haven't talked to her in years. My dad and her don't get along."

The two men exchanged a glance. And you understood now. If you didn't find a home yourself, they'd have to put you in a group home. That was not good. You had heard stories, everyone has. Group homes only provide shelter to trouble. If you ended up there who knows what would happen to you after. You hadn’t thought this through, this was a bad idea. In some sort of a desperate plea, you grab the detective’s hand as he’s about the leave with the other guy.

"Wait no no... I can't live in a home. I can't. I'd rather go home to my dad. Please no." Panic evident in your voice. His face softens, kneeling down to your height. He was just going to try to comfort you. You forced yourself to remember whatever he says can’t change the truth. He isn’t the one making the rules. You’re not naive.

"Hey, hey kiddo. Not there yet, let's give your aunt a ring and see if we can get ahold of her. You got a name?" His voice calm, if he was worried you really couldn’t tell now, unlike when he first returned. You gave her name, not knowing anything besides she lived in St. Paul. But they were cops, you figured they could track her down.

The other guy, Voight, left, you heard him call out to someone named Halstead to run your aunt's name. Antonio didn’t move, just kept holding your hand looking around as if he wasn’t. The fact we seemed unbothered by the comforting gesture put you more at ease, yet you still were struggling with this.

"B-but what if she doesn't want me?"

There was a look of disbelief in his face, as if you were made of solid gold. It was fake and you knew it, still, it was comforting. "We're gonna figure it out, ok? I'll tell her myself what a great kid you are."

"I'm sorry."

The detective didn’t have to say anything, but you knew he deflected your apology. Somehow you just knew the minute you said it what his response was going to be. He didn’t feel bothered. And on top of this it was going to work out. He would make sure it worked out.

And it did. Given the explanation of the situation, your Aunt was happy to take you in. Antonio pulled some strings and you spent one night with his colleague Kim Burgess (the woman with the brown hair) before your aunt took over custody. In less than 48 hours you were on your way to Minnesota with a bag you packed and your dad had no clue. For once you knew there was at least one person who was worth trusting in this world.

The snow crunched below your feet. It was only another mile or so to your aunt’s place. The roads were pretty clear. Much of the snow had been packed down for days, but a recent heatwave melted and refroze the roads to solid ice. The deceiving snow was only an inch or two thick on top of the slick icy layer beneath. So, when you hear tires squeal, it is not in any way surprising. You were learning to drive yourself; ice roads were something that even your aunt had trouble managing let alone teach you how to navigate. You had respect for anyone who was able to successfully manage those roads in two-wheel drive. Whipping around, there’s not a two-ton car sliding towards you as you had expected, planning to dive roll into the snow. There’s a black van with a guy in a ski mask running towards you.

Crap.

Taking advantage of the ice, you threw your backpack at him, hoping he’d lose his balance and walk onto the more slippery road. Yet things do not go to plan as he easily recovers and continues to pursue you, reaching you and wrapping his arms around your waist. You fought. You screamed, wailed, bit, flailed, kicked and every other defensive action your subconscious could think of. It didn’t work, he was just too much bigger than you. You were thrown into the back of the van.

no no no no no this can’t be happening.

You considered yourself a calm person, but that was before you were tied and gagged in the back of a van. The darkness seemed to only escalate your fears as you had a blank canvas to imagine your worst nightmares becoming reality. "Please, just let me go” you must have said it 40 times before something heavy hit your head.

Things faded in and out. Darkness and light fought a battle, but you could never really tell if you could see or not, it was all just shadows. The nausea was also coming in waves, paired with the throbbing sensation on the back of your head. You had been pistol whipped. But of course, you didn’t know that. The sheer terror of the entire situation still had you disoriented. You couldn’t feel the time pass, most people know what a minute or five minutes feels like, but you couldn’t focus. It was all too much.

 When the van doors slide open you hear the guy who grabbed you talk to whoever was driving. “I still can’t believe this guy.” His gruff voice scoffed, close by.

“Well, he had the money, who are we to judge.”

“Guy? Had someone hired them to take me? Was I about to be sold or something?”

 You’re embarrassed to say the next voice you heard brought you half a millisecond of comfort, it was misplaced. “You had to put a sack over her head?” It was your dad. How? Better question why would he ask that question though he had no emotion in his voice.

The men and your dad talk as you wrestle with this entire shock. Suddenly someone picks you up and carries you over their shoulder. You figured it was guy who grabbed you, but feeling that whoever was holding you gently lowered you to the floor, you made the new assumption it was your dad. The blindfold and gag came off in a quick motion. You were met with the hollow face of your father in some sort of abandoned room. He gave a sickening smile, one that brought no relief with it. “I brought you back sugar!”

“Dad, let me go.”

He nodded and started to undo your restraints. It couldn’t be this easy. Taking a moment, he was preoccupied with removing the duct tape glue from your arms, as if he cared, you jumped up, running across the room to open the metal door, but it was locked.

“Open the door, dad.”

“Y-you’ll just leave.” He whimpered, face looking offended.

This wasn’t your dad. The eyes were too hopeful and the demeanor was too caring. This was you dad having some sort of a mental breakdown. The pieces came together as you watched the tremors in his hands. Not knowing the man in front of you felt more terrifying than the man you ran away from. Before, you knew somewhere buried deep in his subconscious he would never seriously harm you beyond some bruises. But you stared into eyes you didn’t recognize. It was entirely possible he was going to kill you. All of that mess 8 months ago just to end up dying in Chicago and nobody knows about it.

But that’s where you were wrong.

Within a 25 mile radius…

“Detective Dawson,”

The somewhat uncaring police deputy at St. Paul started running down the situation. There wasn’t much to tell. Your backpack was found in a snowbank near some blood in the snow with you nowhere to be found. Your aunt had been adamant that the deputy at the front desk reach Antonio. And of course, the detective roped his unit into the situation. Voight made it a priority. It didn’t take a psychologist to see that Antonio cared about you, he cared about all his teen CIs. They were his secondary kids. He would find you, even if he hadn’t promised you to do so. He promised himself. When word had come in that your dad had been behind the entire situation it was not much of a shock. A man with a past of petty crime and domestic abuse with mental health concerns did seem like a high probability suspect. He had also rented out a storage container on the industrial side of town. Antonio and his team suited up. He was going to end this situation here and now.

 “CHICAGO PD OPEN THE DOOR”

In a frenzied craze, your father throws you to the floor. It would make sense for him to run, but logic wasn’t a key factor right now. His foot goes to your neck and the gun points to your head. The gun must have been on his back, you hadn’t seen it until now.

I don’t want to die.

Not like this.

Not here.

Please no.

Please.

 Bursting through the door you make out several people with weapons drawn on your dad. Light floods the dark room leaving the two of you partially blind, yet the tension still filled the air.

“LET HER GO.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. Regardless, your neck was still being crushed. Air was slowly waning from your lungs. And then it wasn’t. In an instant you felt his foot roll out from over you, giving you a chance to scramble away.

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s ok. We’re police.”

And that was likely the only time anyone from your side of town was happy to hear that phrase. But still, you couldn’t quite comprehend it. It was a full mess of tears, screaming, wailing and shaking. You had been mere seconds from death by gun or choking, you couldn’t just suck it up. Not even you were that badass. Nonetheless, the cops weren’t getting anywhere with calming you down.

“Call an ambo.” Calls another voice, a woman. “Tonio, you ok?”

“Yeah” And under normal circumstances you would have connected the dots, but as it has already been overly reiterated, you were not stable right now. The only thing you could register was the familiar hand on top of yours gently squeezing your arm below.

“Shhh shhh, it’s ok kiddo, we got you. He’s gone.”

Hold it, you know that voice.

And what would you know, you finally grasped it. Staring down at you is Detective Dawson, once again saving your neck, literally. It was probably against some rule, but you just buried your head in his shoulder trying to block out everything outside. He let it slide, just holding you there, seemingly not in any rush to move you till the paramedics arrived. In time you realized the other officer trying to calm you down had been Burgess, but you just hadn’t recognized her. You’re in pain, but not horrendous amounts, must be the adrenaline. Regardless, Antonio calls another officer, Atwater, to carry you outside to the ambulance. Before you know it, the ambo is driving away from the scene to Chicago Med, leaving the Intelligence Unit to deal with the aftermath including Dawson.

Sitting in the ER, you wait for test results to return on your head scan. More had happened in the last 12 hours than in the last 8 months. You realized how much you liked the simplicity and (relative) safety of Minnesota, but now you’d at least carry pepper spray. You’re pulled from your thoughts as you see Dawson peak from the side of the curtains. You had not felt too lonely or afraid before given the officers stationed outside your room, but seeing him made you feel better.

“Hey kiddo, how’s the neck?” he smiles, moving into the room slowly as if he was trying not to scare you.

You smile weakly, still exhausted. “Alright, considering.” You noticed tape on the base of his neck on one side extending underneath his shirt where you couldn’t see. “What happened?”

“I might be getting a little long in the tooth for tackling suspects.” And by suspects, you knew he meant your dad. He was the one who got him off you. “Are you ok?” You ask. “All good, just had to get my shoulder checked out.”

“Ok, glad you’re ok.” And you truly were. You would feel awful if you had been the reason he had been seriously injured, especially after you were supposed to be out of his hair.

He nods, fiddling with his hands on the rail at the end of your bed. “Hey, your aunt is on her way to get you, it’s gonna be awhile, but I talked to your doctor and they said they’ll keep you till she arrives to monitor your concussion.”

You nod. “My dad?”

“We got him, he’s going away for a long time.” You notice his lack of enthusiasm in that response, obviously thinking that justice had not been fully served.

“But not forever.” Your voice soft, barely over a whisper.

He shook his head. “Long enough you’re not going to need to worry about him.”

“But you’ll come rescue me again if he tries, right?” You cocked an eyebrow, knowing it wasn’t a promise he could make, but every reassuring thing he told you made you feel better anyways.

“As much as I love the job, I don’t know if I’m going to be on the force in 40 years.”

“Yeah, you might not be able to a shoot a gun while using a walker with tennis balls on the bottom.” The two of you laugh a bit at that visualization.

As you quiet down you notice he looks a bit more serious.“But yeah, I’ll get you.”

Once again, probably against some protocol, but you just had to reach out and hug him burying your face in his leather jacket. He leans forward to pull you in. Something about it was just natural, you knew he’d protect you, you knew that now.

“Thank you so much. I’d be dead.”

“Of course,” He pets your hair, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“T-thank you for caring.” He pulls back to look you in the eyes.

“I checked your record, no priors since you left. Thank you for being worth it.” He smiles.

The two of you sit there for a minute, staring at each other, his hand still the (good) side of your head. You’d never really had a dad moment like this, but if this was the first and last dad moment you ever had, you were ok with it. It was perfect. He stands up, stretching out his back as if he’s about to leave. But instead, he pulls up a chair.

“You don’t mind if I stick around till your aunt arrives do you?”

You gently shook your head. Truth was, you were too afraid to ask him to do so, but of course, somehow, he knew what you needed. So there the two of you sat. Talking about the extremely normal things you had been involved in back in Minnesota. You swear he kept a small smile on his face the entire time. Just happy to see you moving on. It was done.

 When you turned 18, you reached out the Antonio again and asked if he would be willing to meet up for lunch, now that it was “legal” to do so. And now it has become an annual event with occasional bonus trips when you somehow wind up in the Windy City. Your lives may have grown apart in distance but something would always keep the two of you together. He’d always be there for you, and you needed that. Maybe not everyone needs a perfect father figure to survive in the world, but knowing a tough boxing detective would be by your side in one phone call gave you the freedom of safety. Your aunt is an amazing woman, but Antonio Dawson is really the one who you owe everything to.

He promised, you trusted, and it was the first decision of your life that truly mattered.

A/N: I know my presence on this account is sporadic, but I hope some people enjoy this. I’m going to dive into my drafts to work on some of the partially written responses I have for some old requests. (: 

[let-them-read-fics]

Youth With You

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,113

HC Count: 31

This is a mix between headcanons and a one shot

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff, Little Hot & Heavy, (Public) Teasing, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! Here’s my first writing for Lisa; I’m pretty proud of it! Feel free to let me know what you think. Happy reading, I hope you enjoy!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Becoming a new trainee was terrifying in every sense of the word. The media, the practices, the tests -- everything. 3 months into your coaching, however, things hit an all time high: you gained the opportunity to enter the competition Youth With You, as an independent trainee. Your freedom and right to expression was important to you, so it wasn’t an accident that you were going in independently. A company would only put pressure and bans on you, restricting your creativity and keeping you from being your most authentic self.

Finding out that Lisa was a mentor only made your nerves worse; at the same time, though, you’d never been more excited for something in your whole life.

Having friends in the industry proved to be an important factor as you prepped for the show. Producers and managers gave you advice, knowing exactly what each of the teachers looked for and demanded from their groups. You worked tirelessly to ready yourself for the whirlwind that was sure to come.

When you arrive at the production building, you’re in awe; the interior is ginormous, with insanely high ceilings and huge doors. Everything is coated in various colors, all of them pristine and beautiful. The labyrinth of halls that winds throughout the building before you is quite intimidating, but you take a deep breath and remind yourself of your reasons for being here. It’s far too important to chicken out now.

The staff had tipped you off to the fact that the mentors would be there today, but they neglected to tell you when. You had surely expected them to come in after everyone got settled. Alas, you were sorely mistaken; thus, you can imagine the surprise that etched into your features upon entering the main room.

Ella and Kun were invested in their papers, flipping through the stacks and whispering to each other; Jony J was turned to his right, chatting with Lisa. Your presence was announced by the rather loud thud that echoed through the room at the closing of the door.

The bright lights nearly blinded you as you turned to face them again, dread creeping into your mind.

“Hello everyone, I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words came out cooler that you had expected, and you patted yourself on the back for remaining so calm. You’re known for managing to hide your nerves well and remain professional, but that’s no easy task with this group of talent. Especially her.

You purposefully tried to avoid looking at her, knowing you’d blush and get majorly sidetracked. You feared you wouldn’t be able to recover from that.

“I see that you’re an independent trainee,” Kun said, a smile spreading across his lips. You swallowed at the sight, knowing the questions were about to come rolling in. “Yes, that’s correct. I prefer working alone; I only have to rely on myself.” He studies you, head tilted to the side as he considers your answer, and you nearly melt under his astute gaze. “I was the same way. It’s never easy, but the mentors and I will be right beside you during your time here.” Knowing that these 4 amazing people were here to share their experiences and guide you through your troubles made the task at hand much less daunting, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Despite the intensity of the competition, you felt at ease, knowing they genuinely want the best for you.

“Ah, look at that face! So cute,” Ella coos, grinning back. You hide your face behind your hands, embarrassed beyond belief. Everyone chuckles at the sight, and you join in. With the atmosphere officially comfortable, you allow your eyes to trail over to Lisa. To your surprise, she’s already looking at you, lip between her teeth. 

“I see that you have 2 special talents listed.” Lisa starts, leaving room for you to elaborate. “Yes ma’am. While studying abroad in my youth, I learned 3 languages in addition to my native English.” The mentors look pleasantly surprised, and you continue with your other skill. “My mother is a professional chef, and we’ve always been close. She’s trained me over the years, and that’s something I’m very thankful for. During my time away from home I was fortunate enough to learn new techniques and styles from across the world.”

As you finish talking about yourself, you look to each and every one of the judges separately. You know it’s important to have a good connection with all of them, and you use this chance to do just that.

Upon locking eyes with Lisa again, your breath hitches. The light blush that rests on her cheeks, combined with the look she’s giving you, is enough to make you swoon. It’s innocent enough, the way she’s watching you; after all, she can just blame it on her role as a teacher -- she has to get a good understanding of her students. However, though, behind the innocent facade lies a much more sensual reason for her behavior. You don’t miss the way her eyes rake up your body, nor her smirk as she notices your hands mindlessly toying with the band of your shorts. You do your best to keep your attention on the others as they ask you questions about your resume, but that’s easier said than done.

Once they’ve finished with their questions, they invite you to take a seat anywhere you’d like. Despite your desire to book it next to Lisa, you don’t want to be impolite; that’s also not to say that you didn’t enjoy the company of the others -- you truly did. Clearly, though, no one can compare to Lisa.

You give them all another smile, the dimples of your cheeks on full display, and approach them one-by-one to shake their hands. They appreciate the gesture, and you’re confident that you’ve won them over that much more.

As you make your way to the seat beside Lisa, your heart beats wildly. It’s difficult, but you manage to suppress your anxiety for the time being. Letting your control slip now is definitely not an option.

In contrast to the heated look she had been giving you just moments before, Lisa now dons an adorable smile that nearly makes your heart burst. In the moment, you almost reach forward to touch her puffed out cheeks. 

You sit down beside her, and she takes a minute to look you over again. It’s baffling how she can go from so wholesome and adorable to flirty in such a short period of time. 

As the time ticks on and the mentors work through the list of contestants, the two of you continue to steal conversations and teasing glances.

Things are ramped up, however, when Lisa’s hand finds its way to your thigh, settling there for a bit. You attempt to push the intrusive thoughts from your mind, but they come flooding back the second she leans in to whisper something into your ear.

“You look gorgeous,” she tells you, warm breath fanning over your neck. Her slight accent only adds to the effect that her words have on you. All you can offer is a breathless thank you, thoughts completely jumbled at having the stunning woman do such things to you.

Before anyone can get suspicious, she backs off. The disappointment must’ve been evident, because she chuckles lightly and pats your knee in response. Thankfully no one had been paying you two any mind.

~~~ Practices ~~~

It wasn’t often that you came into the studio upset or exhausted, considering you knew you’d soon be cheered up once you saw Lisa, but she made sure to take care of you when those times came around. She could read you like a book, easily knowing when you’d had enough and needed a break. That’s not to say that she lowered her standards, though -- she was firm and demanding, but she checked on you often. She respected all of her students, but she couldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for you. You lived for her soft gaze and gentle touches on the days you needed them most.

Other days, though, you got a kick out of teasing her; playing dumb, purposefully missing steps, ignoring her instructions -- anything to pull a reaction from her. 

          ↪“Eyes forward,” she would call out, voice strong, upon catching you talking to a fellow trainee when you were meant to be practicing. Her jaw would be set, eyes menacing.

          ↪“You keep messing up. Here,” she’d declare, demonstrating the moves directly in front of you. She knew exactly what to do to get you going, and sometimes your plans backfired a bit.

          ↪Those times that you’d play dumb were by far the best, both of you secretly loving the back and forth of it all. “I’m sorry, miss. I just can’t seem to get the moves right.” You’d say, appearing innocent and sweet all the while. It was hard to contain yourself when she’d approach you from behind, pressing her body against your own. “One here,” she’d inform, placing your hand on your hip; “...and one here,” she’d finish, correcting your position once again. When the music restarted, she counted next to your ear, keeping time as her warm hands held yours, guiding you through the positions.  

And of course, the majority of the time, you were a great student for her. Her praise had a mighty effect on you, and there existed a mutual love for it. Being a strong dancer often worked in your favor.

~~~ Performances ~~~

Anytime you were set to perform, Lisa made sure to settle in and get ready to enjoy herself. The two of you had spent many weeks getting to know each other better, growing closer in the process. She found you captivating, and always loved to watch you on stage. The same can be said for you; seeing her dance was always the highlight of your day.

The two of you made sure to play things up, having a knack for getting the other riled up and squirming in their seat.

Watching her cool demeanor falter and ultimately crumble before you was one of your favorite things in the whole world. One of its only rivals was how she had to attempt to conceal it, knowing the cameras would be on her often. 

“I-I loved it. I’m very proud of you, Y/N.”

You smirked at her stutter; no one else was capable of making her blush as much as you did

~~~ Bonus: Backstage ~~~

“You all did so well. I loved that dance break in the middle of the song.” You gushed to a group of your fellow contestants, smiling at how happy they were. Over the course of the competition you had become something of a “celebrity” yourself, noticing that the other girls would always approach you for help and get giddy when you agreed. Not to mention that the mentors were always proud of your progress and dedication to the craft. The conversation continued, and you settled into a comfortable rhythm; everyone taking a turn to share their favorite part of their performance. Seeing these girls -- your friends -- so proud of themselves was a wonderful thing. Everyone worked so hard, day in and day out, to put forth their best effort in everything that they did. Celebrating each other’s wins just felt right, despite the fact that this is a competition. It always hurt to see anyone go home, considering you spent so much time getting to know each other. These were the people who were there for you when you needed it most; all of you know how hopeless it can feel, and you wanted to protect the others from that in every way possible. 

“Y/N!” The sound of someone calling your name pulls you from the conversation, and you send a quick bow and goodbye to the girls before departing. 

Your eyes travel across the crowded stage, searching for the source of the noise. You spot Lisa looking at you, hand beckoning you towards her. A familiar warmth spreads across your body at the action, and you don’t even attempt to stop the smile that takes over your features.

“Yes?” You ask sweetly, approaching her. Her hands slip into yours, fingers lacing in a sweet embrace. “I want you to come to my dressing room once everyone goes back to the dorm. You impressed me tonight, but you still have some things to learn.” As that last sentence falls from her lips, your blood runs cold. Her voice had dropped lower, and you feared what she meant by that. Had you mixed up the choreography without realizing it? Surely not. The only thing you were sure of in that moment was the way she was studying you, almost intimidatingly. Her jaw was set, eyes narrowed, and you swallowed thickly upon noticing this. “Of course. I appreciate the feedback.” She smiled, seemingly pleased with your answer.

With a swipe of her thumb across your knuckles, she was gone.

A sigh left your lips, your mind racing at all of the possible things to come.

~~~ Bonus: A Private Meeting ~~~

“You wanted to see me, Lisa?” You announce upon entering the room and shutting the door behind yourself. The two of you had long ago left the formalities behind, opting instead to be on a first name basis. It was much more intimate, and you preferred things to be that way with her. Of course, occasionally you would use her official title just to get a certain reaction out of her. Slipping it into conversation when around the other instructors always worked to get her attention and catch her off guard. It was easy to see that she enjoyed it, the innocent way it rolled off your tongue. 

You sit down in the chair opposite her, feeling the coolness of the leather press against your calves as you get situated.

“Good job tonight; you get better and better with every performance.” You thank her, both well aware of how much you enjoy her praise. Her expression turns more serious, and you take a deep breath. Here goes. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be so close with some of the other contestants, though. Not all of them are interested in gaining your friendship for the right reasons.” With furrowed eyebrows and slightly pursed lips, you look at her. “What exactly do you mean?” Her expression turns unreadable, and you sink into your seat a little more. “Some of them may want to get into your head to throw you off your game. Despite what you want to believe, Y/N, this is still a contest.” You sigh, now a bit upset that she’s treating you like a child. “I’m aware of that, Lisa, but I can take care care of myself.” At the change in tone, the air around you shifts into something more tense. “Are you sure? Because you seem to be pretty oblivious to their actions.” She bites back, shifting her seat to get a better look at you, and crosses her arms.

When you don’t respond, she takes this as her cue to continue. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I see the way they look at you, so entranced. They know that acting helpless will get your attention. It’s just to distract you!” She says, exasperated, jaw set and eyes cut, just like earlier.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, a contrasting tone of accusal and uncertainty in your voice. No turning back now.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Jealous? Of what?” Her eyes setting on you again, a cocky expression on her face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you start, toying with her; you know exactly what to say. “Maybe at the fact that they get to be so close to me all the time, like you want to be. Or maybe that we sleep together, especially when it gets cold in the dorms.”

It’s her turn to be speechless. “I’m more observant that you act, miss.” She gulps, and you bite back a smirk. “I see how you look at me; your desire is obvious. We’ve both known it for a long time now… Why don’t you just admit it?” The teasing tone in your voice is thick, and it’s clearly getting to her. Who knew you could make her feel like this with just your words?

“Y/N…” Lisa says your name almost as a warning, knowing that you’re on the edge of crossing the line. She failed to deny your claims; after all, it would do no good. She can’t disguise her feelings for you.

A surge of confidence washes over you, and you take that as a sign to scoot closer to her. Soon, you’re mere inches away from her, your body pressed against the side of the seat as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. Her tongue darts out of her mouth, soothing her lips.

You take her in for a moment, enjoying the sight. Her long dark hair tumbles past her shoulders in loose waves, and a blush takes residence upon her cheeks. Having her like this was something you only dreamed of in the past; seeing her so aroused because of you truly made you think back on how far the two of you have come.

To put an end to the silence, you loop two fingers underneath her chin, successfully coaxing her into meeting your gaze. Your eyes fall to her lips as you ask, “Am I wrong?” Before you can continue, her resolve fades. She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Any ounce of doubt that you had before melts away as she pulls you closer.

With inhibition and processing skills long gone, you slip from your chair and into hers, settling in her lap. One of her arms wraps around your waist to hold you steady, while her other hand tangles itself into your hair. A swift bite to your lip, paired with a flex of her warm thigh beneath you, sends a jolt through your body and earns her a low groan. She shudders against you, and that simple act works wonders in boosting your confidence.

All too quickly, a sudden noise from just outside the door startles you; reluctantly, Lisa pulls away. You nearly gasp at how dark her eyes have gotten in the heat of the moment. “I’m going to go see what that was,” she informs, gently setting you down in her seat as she stands up. Before turning to walk away, however, she plants another kiss on your lips. “Don’t even think about moving. I’m not done with you yet.”

[shrinkyclinksfest]

That's a wrap!

Thank you all so much for another successful run of Shrinkyclinks Fest! Altogether the works add up to 150K words of new Shrinkyclinks content and six new artworks! We want to thank all our wonderful writers, artists, promoters, promoters, readers, and supporters. We will see you all next year!

Without further ado, the Masterlist:

Title: Nazi Punks Fuck Off [Shrinkyclinks AU] Creator: bleedxblack Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 22 Warnings: N/A Summary: Local punk Steve Rogers goes to see his hardcore vocalist boyfriend, Bucky, perform with his band, Widow. Friend and guitarist Natasha took the first photo of them after the band had finished their set. Steve took the following photo himself while he watched his friends and lover play on stage.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271081

Title: Steve has hot guy problems Creator: HeyBoy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): digital art Rating: T Prompt #: 33 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the ShrinkyClinks Fest prompt: Meet-cute at the gym! Smol Steve is determined to work on his cardio and fitness. He reluctantly goes to the gym, feeling intimidated but ready to spit fire at anyone who so much as looks at him twice. He is going to get a good workout, damnit. Ignore the clunkheads. Ignore the gym rats. Ignore the super hot guy with long hair and stormy eyes who always seems to be using the equipment near Steve. That wasn't so bad! Now we can shower and go home. Wait, hot guy is also in the shower and… he's singing. WAIT hot guy just exited the shower and now he knows that I know he was singing!.

Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33271468

Title: asthma attacks, fire escapes, and chai Creator: beemotionpicture Medium: fic Rating: gen Wordcount: 6,657 Prompt #: 9 Warnings: none Summary: It happens because of his asthma of all things.

As soon as he feels short of breath he starts rooting through his messenger bag for his inhaler. Steve has a moment to think aha!and then fuck,before he’s losing his grip on the thing and it’s skidding across the pavement and into an alleyway.

He freezes when he realizes he’s not alone.

Steve hears a muffled sound coming from behind the dumpster, but that’s not what makes him look; no, it’s the metallic scent in the air which, with a creeping feeling of dread, he hopes isn’t blood. He looks. It’s blood.

And there’s a man sitting right in a puddle of it, leaning heavily against the brick wall and clutching his side with a metal hand.

How Steve finds an injured Bucky, nurses him back to health, and takes down a HYDRA agent while he’s at it. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33272239

Title: Highway Ghost Creator: Neonbat  Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 15820 Prompt #: 31 Warnings: Usual WS Bucky warnings Summary: Steve hated long drives, it was too easy to zone out, especially when you’re full of cook-out food and good times. Having someone fall out of nowhere right in front of his car wasn’t exactly something he’d ever consider a possibility. He had enough excitement already from his job as an ER Nurse. Except, where most people would have been laid out on the asphalt, the man dressed in black got up without a scratch and insisted medical care wasn’t needed. The fuck was his life?  Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33283738

Title: He "Accidently" Picked A Hot Roommate Creator: rufferto Medium: digital art Rating: G Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33279370

Title: special delivery Creator: @glim / glim Medium: fic Rating: Teen + Wordcount: ~6,000 words Prompt #: 30 Warnings: n/a Summary: Written for shrinkyclinksfest, Prompt #30: Steve Rogers has always been prone to sickness, but summer colds are the absolute worst. What he wants is a huge bowl of chicken noodle soup and some ice cream. What he gets is a food delivery guy who’s so built and hot Steve chokes on his tongue. That’s why he keeps ordering long after he’s recovered and how he finally gets Bucky Barnes into his apartment and his bed. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33343828

Title: When the Pool Closes Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1858 Prompt #: 36 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve just wants to enjoy a day out in the sun by himself. That’s not too much to ask. Except it is, apparently. With such fair skin, sunscreen is a must, and there’s no way he can reach his entire back. He’s just going to have to find someone to help him apply it, and if the guy is ripped… Well, it’s not Steve’s fault that he’s got good taste. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33341596

Title: To the Future and the Past Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: T Wordcount : 1465 Prompt #: 40 Warnings: Major character death Summary: Maybe a funeral isn’t the right time to admit to a gay love story, but Bucky doesn’t care. That’s what Steve wanted, and Bucky’s never been able to say no to the love of his life. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33358726

Title: A Shot Across The Bow Creator: Author: Becassine Artist: Call_me_kayyyyy  Art Rating: G Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 18382 Prompt #: 52 Warnings: Blood/Injury, Implied/Reference Abuse, Reference Slave Trade Summary: Bucky Barnes is a Pirate Captain, and one accustomed to getting his own way. When fate drops Steve Rogers in his path one lonely evening in Tortuga, his life is forever turned upside down. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33265450/chapters/82597747

Title: Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet Creator: Girl_Back_There Medium: Fic Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6214 Prompt #: 45 Warnings: Some Homophobic Language, Instances of Sexual Harassment against women Summary:Bucky doesn’t know how his mother managed to Jedi mind trick him into dropping off Becca at summer camp this year, but she somehow did it. Despite his grumpiness at the unreasonable hour in which he was wrenched from his nice and cozy bed, Bucky is glad for this time with his little sister. Becca spends their time talking about the activities she got to do last summer that she hopes will be back again this year, all of which was organized by Steve Rogers. After she came home from Camp Marvel last year, all Becca could talk about was Steve Rogers, one of the counselors for her team, The Howlies. Steve Rogers was an amazing artist. Steve Rogers participates in all of the competitions despite his asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, and various other medical issues. Steve Rogers totally drinks his respect women juice. Bucky would be worried about his sister may be developing a crush on this Steve guy, but after meeting him, Bucky is more preoccupied with the crush he's developing on Steve. So preoccupied in fact, he ends up signing on to be a camp counselor for the summer. Link to work:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33339220

Title:  The Way To A Man’s Heart Creator: Author: HaniTrash Artist: Kocuria_visuals  Art Rating: T Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 11852 Prompt #: 53 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers, skinny Brooklynite, is a college student who makes old recipes and posts videos of them on tiktok. When Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier and Avenger, sees one, he's instantly hooked and becomes Steve's biggest fan. What follows next is a story of food, flirting, and a very unlikely pairing. But much like Steve’s unusual recipes, what shouldn’t work often does… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33312223/chapters/82722664#workskin

Title: Maybe A Muse Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Medium (fic, art, podfic, etc.): fic Rating: M Wordcount: 2871 Prompt #: 28 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary:  When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33393928

Title: Be My Breath Creator: Goosenik and clarkestetler Medium: Fic Rating: Teen and Up Wordcount: 44,575 Prompt #: 48 Warnings: N/A Summary: For the Shrinkyclinks Fest 2021 prompt: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate.

Basically: Bucky moves in with Steve after he escapes from Hydra, and Steve begins the long process of helping Bucky remember how to be human again. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33275848/chapters/82626394

Title: Tap-Tap Into Your Heart Creator: huntress79​ Medium: Fic Rating: T Wordcount: 5k Prompt #: 6 Warnings: none, except for one blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention of animal death  Summary: When HYDRA finally fell, the Soldier was lost, in more than one meaning. And for the next several months, he, more or less, drifted from one former safehouse to the other, always avoiding to stay too long in one place. Until he comes to Brooklyn - and finds a new purpose, again in more than one meaning… Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33416524

Title: I'd be selfish but never with you Creator: Lacunalady on Ao3 Medium: Fic Rating: E Wordcount: 20k Prompt #: 32 Warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Prompted with: "Arranged marriage AU. Steve is a prince and Bucky is a newly crowned king of the neighboring country having conquered/overtaken the last ruler. In order to keep the peace between their countries, Steve's father decides for them to wed. Steve is reluctant for several reasons but mainly because he wants to marry for love and the fact that Bucky has a reputation for being exceedingly ruthless in battle (aka the winter solider)" by Bangyababy on Tumblr! Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33424936

Title: Just Peachy Creator: Erosanderis Fic Rating: N/A Wordcount : 1266 Prompt #: 34 Warnings: N/A Summary: Steve Rogers was not looking forward to meeting his soulmate. Ever since the day he was born, he had the worst possible words on his forearm. So of course he would meet them at work. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33412060

Title: Knocking Boots with Sugar Creator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy  Fic Rating: E Wordcount : 4095 Prompt #: 29 Warnings: N/A Summary: In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave. Link to work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33499603

[mandalorewhore]

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter  (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily​

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man. 

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew  something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

    You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to  not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake. 

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again. 

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off  as a droid. 

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment. 

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason.  Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

    “I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness. 

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond. 

    “Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

    “Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

    “O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

    “Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine. 

    “Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops. 

    He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.” 

    There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.” 

    A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?” 

    “That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

    “Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you. 

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

    “16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous. 

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind. 

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer. 

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

 You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions. 

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

    You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?” 

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?” 

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze. 

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet. 

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness. 

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away. 

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling. 

“You can carry it from now on.” 

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit? 

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire. 

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry. 

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

------------------------------------------

 You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you. 

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

          But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on. 

You wish they would fear you like that.

          Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

          “Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

          “I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

          “Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

          “It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

          The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

          “Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector. 

          Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

          Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

          “She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you. 

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

          Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip. 

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job. 

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology. 

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome. 

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time. 

    “I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger. 

    “Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted. 

    “My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose. 

    After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

    “I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.” 

    You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

    “I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

    “Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

    This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

    “On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this. 

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.” 

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously. 

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it. 

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants.  He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.” 

He waves back. “You as well, girl.” 

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

----------------   

    It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

    Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere. 

    As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

    It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

    Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about. 

    Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path. 

    It’s almost funny how quickly things go south. 

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated. 

    “I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

    You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison. 

    The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement. 

The blast misses by a few inches. 

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

    You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

    Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

 As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here. 

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof. 

He saved your ass. Again. 

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there. 

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about. 

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is. 

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it. 

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

    He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?” 

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street. 

----------------   

The walk back to the Crest is short.

 You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall? 

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you. 

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp. 

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot. 

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it. 

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot. 

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that. 

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles. 

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again. 

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him. 

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan. 

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now. 

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire. 

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach. 

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead. 

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal. 

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian. 

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.” 

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that. 

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath. 

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit. 

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game. 

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-” 

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life. 

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-” 

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt. 

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims. 

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement. 

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words 

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours. 

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing. 

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.” 

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator. 

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.” 

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks. 

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness. 

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

------------------------------------------

     It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

    The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this. 

    “Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly. 

And so you do.

[professorsnape394]

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Eleven: A Pining Professor

A/N: This is the eleventh part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 1913

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

"Very well done, Miss Granger." Aria commended as the young Hermione Granger brandished her perfectly completed potion to the class. "Now, who's next?" The professor questioned looking around the room for another student to choose. Her eyes quickly landed on an awkward looking fourth year Gryffindor boy. "How about you, Mr. Longbottom. Care to show us your final potion?"

The boy looked around nervously, attempting to straighten out his disheveled robes, hoping someone would save him from this inevitable embarrassment.

"Erm... I... I don't think I've done it right, Professor Dumbledore." Neville shot a quick, terrified glance in the direction of Severus Snape, who was, as usual hunched over his desk, paying little attention to the classroom full of students.

"Don't look so worried, Neville." Aria replied softly, beckoning the boy to test out his shrinking solution. "Professor Snape and I are not here to judge your abilities, but to guide you in the right direction, allowing you to flourish to your highest potential."

Professor Snape let out a low grunt, looking up from his desk for a brief second, unimpressed by the encouraging words of his apprentice.

Neville Longbottom took a step up to the front of the classroom, a small vial of his potion shaking slightly in his hand. Aria snatched a spare quill from the Potion Masters desk and laid it down in front of Neville waiting to see the results of his concoction. The acid green liquid dripped down onto the feathers, small droplets of the potion pooling together, quickly drowning the quill. The students stood around in silence, waiting for the quill to shrink down into practically nothing. However, instead of shrinking, the potion began to bubble and fizz. Within seconds the bubbles turned into a rabid foaming substance. After a few moments of watching the foam expand, it disappeared completely, the feathers of the quill melting away with it.

Almost as if the whole class had been holding their breath, a large number of students exhaled simultaneously. Neville's face dropped, disheartened by his efforts. "Not to worry, Longbottom, we'll walk you through it one more time, and show you what went wrong."

"I don't think so, Miss Dumbledore." Professor Snape piped up, appearing at the side of  the young woman. "Mr. Longbottom, I want you to write an essay at least 1500 words detailing exactly what went wrong, and how you will re-mediate your efforts in the future. I want this on my desk by tomorrow morning." His sudden appearance dulled the mood Aria had worked to built within the class, instantaneously.

"Yes Sir." The boy retorted, cowering away back to the crowd of students. 

Aria stared at the Professor, stunned at his interference. The pair had come to an agreement where Severus took on the theoretical aspect of the job, teaching the students his methods, while Aria took on the practical aspect, helping the students as they brewed. Severus often stayed quiet during her teaching time, taking nothing to do with the students after he taught them the correct brewing process. He trusted her to lead them in the right direction, after all. However,  today Snape was persistent in making himself known, he felt the need to remind them all of his intimidating, dominant presence, determined to scare the students, into obedience.

"Class dismissed." Snape ordered, the children fleeing from the room before the words had even completely left his mouth.

Just as fast as the room had cleared, Severus made a move to gather the papers from his desk, appearing to be getting ready to leave the classroom, something he never usually done until it was time for the great feast.

"Where are you going?" Aria questioned, closing the gap between herself and the Potions Master, stopping him from wandering off without an explanation.

"To my office to mark the remainder of these essays... in peace." He stated, his tone full of venom. Again, Aria was taken aback by the way the man spoke to her. He had gradually been warming up to her these past few weeks and it had been a long time since he spoke to her with such anger. Considering how the previous evening had panned out, it bothered Aria that he had become so frosty again so quickly, they had made so much progress since their first meeting. And for what? For Severus to just immediately go back to his old ways. Aria wasn't about to let that happen anytime soon.

"What's your problem, Severus?" Aria snapped, getting in between the door and her mentor. "You've been acting like a dick all day. We finally had a nice evening together, both of us doing our own thing, it was nice! But then you ran out suddenly and without reason. And now you're acting even worse than you did before. Did I do something to piss you off? Please tell me!" She ranted, desperate for an answer.

"I'm not quite sure what you think went on last night, but whatever it is, I advise you get it out of your head immediately." He snapped, gradually nearing the exit.

"What are you talking about?" Aria questioned, sincerely confused. "Nothing did happen last night Severus and I'm not acting like it did. What's going on with you, is there something wrong?"

"Don't patronise me, Miss Dumbeldore, I don't need your pity." He seethed, clutching his stack of papers tightly to his chest. "I want to make it abundantly clear to you that we are to maintain a strictly professional relationship from here on out. We are not friends. And we never will be."

Seeing the enraged look grow on his face, Aria gave in, not willing to argue with her mentor any longer.  Stepping away from the door, she allowed Severus to take his leave. The whole conversation had thoroughly confused her, she had thought last night had been nice for the both of them but clearly she was wrong and it just wasn't worth aggravating Severus even more.

From the moment Severus left Aria's room to the minute she walked through his classroom door the next morning Severus had not stopped thinking about the woman he tried so hard to despise. He had not slept, therefore he was even more unpleasant than usual. He was irritable with his coworkers, terrifying to his students, and just flat out mean to Aria. Although his body could not deny that he was attracted to her, a night of constant angry thoughts aimed at himself, quickly formed into a hatred for the woman in a desperate attempt to hide the embarrassment he was feeling not so deep down.

Determined to distance himself from his apprentice, he 'gave her the night off', if you could phrase it that way. Severus shut himself in his office, banning her from joining him while he marked as she so often did. Distracting himself from thoughts of her seemed to be working for him, and in no less than a few hours he was feeling back to his usual self. No thoughts of Aria entering his mind, whether it be thoughts of anger, lust or... Well, lets just say Aria was successfully no longer on his mind.

That was, of course, until a familiar rumble was heard from his stomach and he knew he could not avoid the great feast, though he so wanted to.

Seeing the young woman walk into the Great Hall amongst a crowd of students sent an instant pang into Severus' gut. It was then he knew that no matter how hard he tried to get this woman off his mind and no matter how 'temporarily' successful he was at doing so, there was no way he was ever going to escape how he felt. He could pick her out amongst a crowded room, and the beating of his heart became instantly deafening. This was not an attraction he saw himself being able to easily escape from.

Taking her regular seat at the table in between Severus and Minerva, the two woman got to chatting immediately. Aria kept herself turned away from the potions master, knowing he would not be in the mood to have any type of interaction with her. Snape found himself hurt that Aria kept her back to him, he hated the fact she wasn't trying harder to break him from the mood he had got himself into. Though if she had tried he would not be willing to be broken out of it quite yet.

As the whole hall began to fill with chatter and laughter Severus found himself the only miserable man in the place. He sat through the meal in silence, not talking to anyone, and no one speaking to him. It was on this rare occasion he found himself lonely in the situation he had created to protect himself from emotions exactly like this.

As the feast came to an end Professor Snape was ready to flee from the room, uninterested in anything else it had to offer him.

That was, until, a plump little owl found its way over to Aria Dumbledore and a gasp of glee escaped the two women beside him. His interest piqued, Severus settled back into his chair, focusing in on the conversation of his colleagues.

"Who's it from?" Minerva queried, her eyes having already scanned the contents of the letter.

"Oh it's just some guy I met at the Three Broomsticks. Pretty much saved me from being touched up by an old creep." The witch replied, a small chuckle escaping her lips.

"And he's asked you on a date?" Mcgonagall questioned further.

"No not at all." Aria scoffed. "Its just a few drinks see." She said passing over the parchment to the older woman.

"Sounds like a date to me." Professor McGonagall grinned.

"Its not a date!" Aria screeched in return, though Severus noted a hint of excitement in her voice.

The Potions Master felt his face burn with jealousy, a fiery hot ball growing inside him just waiting to burst out his chest. He hated the thought of seeing Aria out with another man, though he knew he could not be with her either. He was jealous for sure, but there was no way he would ever be willing to commit to her. Not that she could ever feel the same about him, if he did. He did not want her himself, but he also did not want anyone else to have her.

It was then the memory of another letter crossed his mind. Someone else already did have her. According to the letter he came across in her quarters she was in a relationship. And now, as much as she wanted to deny it, this new letter stated she would be going on a date with someone else.

Despite how sweet and innocent this young witch may seem, Severus Snape was beginning to build a picture of who she really was. It was clear to him now that from the moment she arrived at Hogwarts she had been playing him, just like he assumed she was playing these other men. 'She flirts and charms her way into getting everything she wants. Snape thought to himself. After all, she young and extremely attractive. What exactly is stopping her from taking advantage of everyone who falls for her. Well not me.' The thought continued. 'I'm wont be taken advantage of anymore.'

And with that Severus stormed from the room, his opinion of his apprentice having changed completely.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil

[rosy-cheekx]

I Want To Be A Real Fake

@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3

Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!

-

Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.

“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.

“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”

He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”

“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”

Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.

“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.

God, this is going to suck.

-

“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”

“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”

“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”

Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.

“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”

“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.

“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”

“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.

“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”

Good Lord.

-

Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.

“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.

“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”

Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.

“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”

“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”

“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.

Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”

Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”

Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.

“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”

As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.

-

The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.

Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.

Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.

There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”

Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.

“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”

“W-with me?”

“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless?  Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”

(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)

“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.

“Now Simon,” he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”

Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.

“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”

Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah—my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”

“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.

The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.

“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.

“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.

Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.

Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.

At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.

“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.

“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”

Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.

The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?

As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”

Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-

“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”

Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.

“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”

“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.

“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.

“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”

Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.

“Okay. So, we won’t.”

“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.

“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”

“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.

“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”

Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.

(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)

[helbertinelli]

A Different Hope

Chapter 1 - Her Eyes

"This is outrageous! It's unfair!" Leia fumed as she was pacing around the living room of the Coruscant apartment. Vader stood up straight in silence as he watched her ramble on. "This just..." She started again. "The audacity of that-... of the Emperor to send out his... his droid to spy on me." Leia continued and her comment got Vader to frown.

"You should be careful with your words, your Highness." He warned.

"Oh? Am I wrong? Are you not here to spy on me because the Emperor doesn't trust my father? Sorry to disappoint, Lord Vader, but you'll find nothing of value wasting your time here." She snapped.

"The Emperor sent me here for your own protection while you're away from Alderaan. You will find Coruscant to be a bit more dangerous than what you're used to. Your father should have already informed you why I am here." Vader explained as Leia rolled her eyes at him.

Vader was just as displeased with his assignment as she was, but he was far less vocal about it. He could not comprehend why Palpatine thought this job could not have went to anyone else. After all, looking after a fourteen year-old and making sure her family is not orchestrating a political betrayal was beneath the skills of a powerful Sith lord as himself.

The first few days were spent without too many incidents. Leia was quick to anger, almost as quick as Vader himself, but aside from a few choice words thrown at her new guardian and some incidents where she preferred not to have a chaperone, she was mostly putting up with the entire ordeal.

"You're not coming with me." Leia crossed her arms. "I am expected alone and it won't look good if I drag along the Emperor's pet after me. They will think I don't trust them... or worse, that I need you helping me." She argued as Vader was about to join her to a meeting with several of Bail's friends from the Senate.

"This is not a debate, Princess. The Emperor was clear that I am to not let you out of sight." Vader replied, crossing his arms, too as he was getting fed up of having the same argument with her every time she had to go somewhere.

"I don't need you there making everyone uncomfortable and distracting from what I have to say!" Leia said angrily, just as tired of the argument as he was. She held her composure, looking directly into his eyes, to show him she was not intimidated by him. "Do you not understand anything?"

He found himself looking into her eyes for a moment and for some reason, they seemed familiar. She had Padme's eyes. He saw them staring right at him and for a second he could swear he saw Padme's face over Leia's.

"That's what I thought..." Leia said with a proud smirk, enjoying that she seemed to have won the argument since the Sith lord was left completely silent. Vader gave up trying to follow her that night, the memory of Padme was still burning in his head. He retreated to the chamber he was sleeping in. It already was outfitted with all the technology he needed to sleep and to meditate. He got out of his suit and entered his meditation chamber. The events of earlier made it harder for him to concentrate and he was getting overwhelmed by his sadness and pain.

Why did she have Padme's eyes? Everything about them was the same: the shape, the color, even the small sparkles as light reflected on them. He was unable to process it right now because thinking about a connection between them would be too painful to even consider. He always felt something was different about Leia, but he never considered her important enough to dwell on it. Could there be more to who Leia was? More to what Palpatine had told him? -- Chapter 2 - Dreams

Leia was back on Alderaan, running to meet her father. As she got closer to Bail, his entire figure twisted into that of Vader. "No!" She shouted. "What have you done? Where is my father?!" She cried out as she stopped in her tracks.

"I am your father, Leia." Vader's voice echoed all around her. He reached his hand out to her, which made her step back. "No! No!" She cried again and again until she woke herself up from her nightmare.

She paced around her bedroom, scared to go back to sleep and have that same dream again or maybe an even worse one.

In his dreams he was Anakin again and Padme was with him and their child was with them too. His dreams about what his family could have been were the only thing bringing him comfort through everything.

"I'll check on Leia." Padme looked into his blue eyes, her brown curls sprawled over his arm as she laid next to him on their bed.

"Leia?" He raised his brow. "What do you mean? Where is Jinn?"

"Leia, our daughter." Padme looked at him with a confused look on her face. "Who is Jinn?" She asked as she sat up to go to Leia's room.

"Wait." Anakin said, touching her hand gently. "I'll go. You stay here." She nodded in agreement, lying back down on the bed. Anakin went to Leia's room. There was a crib on one side of the room and a small baby girl was asleep in it. She had short brown curls just like her mother and when she opened her eyes at the sound of Anakin entering the room, she had brown eyes, just like her mother too.

"Da-da!" The girl babbled, trying to stand up in her crib and falling back and then holding her arms out to him. He picked her up carefully and she placed her hands on his face before pressing her face onto the side of his face. Anakin smiled, hugging her softly as Leia cooed happily.

--

Notes:

- The setting for this is basically Palpatine sends Vader to keep an eye on Leia and the Organas because he thinks Bail is up to something. When Leia comes on Coruscant with her father, Vader is assigned to her under the pretense that Leia needs someone to protect her from the increasing rebel threat. Bail can’t really refuse so he just goes along with it, hoping this is just temporary.

- Leia is 14 in this story, so this takes place before ANH. The events of Episodes I-III are the same, but Episodes IV-VI don’t fit in with this AU.

- There’s a reference to Darth Vader and The Lost Command in Chapter 2. So if you’re confused about Jinn, that’s the name of Anakin and Padme’s son  during Vader’s dreams in that comic.

- I don’t really have any set deadlines for when I’ll publish future chapters. Depends on when I feel like writing them.

--

Chapter 3 - Anakin and Padme / Chapter 4 - The Ghosts of Polis Massa

Chapter 5 - The End / Chapter 6 - Twin Suns

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 4 - Interview

Title: Irreverent Pt. 4 - Roundtable Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: T (Teen) Words: 3772

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You got up in the morning with a pit of dread blooming in your stomach. The night before had been a lot of tossing and turning with minimal sleep. Today was it, make or break.

Getting ready and out the door was a breeze, as you'd planned this morning to the very last detail, leaving absolutely nothing to chance. As you exited the hotel and caught a cab to Quantico, you ran through the game plan over and over in your head. There was no longer any time to second guess the approach. You had done your research and you had thought this through. At the end of it, your goal was to make an impression. You quickly stifled the small voice in your head that warned you that it was a risky approach and could blow up in your face. It had to work. It just had to.

Entering the building and getting your visitors credential was easy - you were expected. As you walked towards the elevators, you saw the doors opening and your classmates Charlotte and Elliot walked out together. You were unsurprised to see Charlotte there - she was accomplished and well spoken with a good head on her shoulders. You were surprised to see Elliot who was known to be a bit of a showboat but you liked him just the same. You smiled at them both as you quickly grabbed the doors before they closed on you.

As you exited the elevator, you caught sight of Erin Strauss walking towards you. You had met Strauss before when she had come to speak to your class about her team and the BAU's success. After her speech, you'd gone up and introduced yourself and spoken with her briefly. Later that week, you'd gotten a call from her assistant, asking you to attend a Women in the FBI Mentorship event where she spoke at length of the value of female mentorship. You had since attended a couple of those events and she had made small talk with you at each one. You had your suspicions regarding her interest in you, but seeing as she was the Section Chief of the BAU, you made sure to always show her the utmost respect and admiration.

"Y/N! It's so good to see you" Strauss said as you approached one another. "I am so glad Aaron chose to interview you."

"Chief Strauss, thank you so much. I'm sure that you had at least something to do with that," you responded, knowing she'd react well to that kind of adulation.

"Oh please, I just nudged along the best of the best. But you should know, every single member of that team chose to interview you. And you're the only one who got every single vote."

Taken aback, you quickly smiled and thanked her once again as she pointed you in the direction of the conference room. They'd all chosen to interview you. That definitely shifted some of the power in your favor. You quickly suppressed a satisfied smile and knocked on the door where the entire team was waiting for the final candidate.

"Come in." You heard a deep voice from behind the door, prompting you to turn the knob and say a final prayer hoping you wouldn't stumble over your words.

Seven pairs of eyes looked at you as you entered, watching your every move.

"Good morning," you smiled and looked around, making eye contact with everyone there. "Thank you for inviting me to interview with your team. It is an honor."

"Please have a seat Ms. L/N," The dark haired man - whom you recognized as SSA Aaron Hotchner - pointed you to a chair at one end of the large table. "Before we begin, I am SSA Hotchner, these are SAs Morgan, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid," he pointed to each one, prompting you to recall their faces from the extensive research you had done on this team. You smiled at them each in turn, which they returned, Agent Morgan adding in a little wave to his greeting.

"To my right is SSA David Rossi," Agent Rossi looked just like the pictures on his book jacket covers. "And finally this is our media liaison, Agent Jennifer Jareau and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia."

"It's lovely to meet all of you," you said as you settled in, trying to keep your heart from beating out of its chest. Agent Hotchner was more intimidating in person. His deep gravelly voice in the introductions matched what you had learned of him - he was astute, intelligent, and unlikely to tolerate any antics. His large frame filled the chair he was seated in, his legs crossed one over the other. You swallowed and tried to maintain your composure and stay the course.

Agent Hotchner continued, "As you might know, the BAU has not conducted panel interviews in the past. However, we are trying to grow and adapt ourselves to suit the needs of the team's best interests and so we want to ensure that anyone who is selected meets the entire team prior to a final decision." You nodded along. Panel interviews were becoming the norm a lot of places and while government is usually last to adapt, you were glad to see that the team culture seemed to be welcoming and open to flexibility. Agent Hotchner continued to explain the process, "So, due to that, the team has collectively come to the decision that the best way to assess a profiler is to have them actually do a profile. We profile UnSubs every day but doing it well is rooted in a base of self awareness." He paused and looked to see if you understood. You had an idea of where this was headed, but he confirmed it next, "So, Ms. L/N, profile yourself for us please."

You saw a smirk on Agent Prentiss's face that arguably had been there the second you entered the room. You looked around as they all waited for you to speak. You had to think fast.

"I ran into Chief Strauss on my way to the interview today," you began. It wasn't what they'd expected and you knew you immediately had everyone's attention. "She let slip that the team had voted on whom to interview. She also mentioned that I was the only person you'd all chosen."

You looked across the table and saw Dr. Reid staring at you with curiosity and ascertained that both of your predecessors had chosen the more straightforward manner of answering this question.

Both Agents Hotchner and Rossi looked at you with nothing betraying their thoughts, while the rest of the team either mirrored Dr. Reid's curiosity or looked just a little thrown off.

You recalled all of your research and meticulous notes on every single person in that room, and continued on. "Agent Garcia," you addressed the spunky looking Technical Analyst and smiled. "In my application and background check, you noted that growing up I moved every couple of years and I attended a new school each time. You saw someone who never had a home. For you this team is your family and your home. You all trust and respect one another and you felt like I'd most benefit from having this team - this family - in my life." you paused as Penelope gazed at you in some small amount of wonder. "You're probably right about that."

"H-How," she began, but stopped when Agent Rossi slightly lifted his hand, indicating you to continue.

You swallowed and took another deep breath, one down, six to go. "Dr. Reid," you turned and made eye contact with the youngest member of the team who was now studying you much more carefully, "My final year of college I worked under Professor Ludwig and published a paper in the Journal of Criminal Psychology. He forwarded my initial draft to you and asked your opinion on it and you responded with insight that helped shape the final experiment design greatly. Thank you." You saw a flicker of recognition on Dr. Reid's face as he realized that the anonymous paper he'd edited had been yours. "When you looked at my application, you saw my degrees, my certificates, and my Mensa membership and recognized a kindred spirit. You'd also like to no longer be the youngest on the team and it helps that I'm on the younger end of people who are usually considered to join the BAU. Actually, I'm pretty sure you also selected Elliot and Charlotte for the exact same reason." You allowed yourself to let out a small breath of a laugh, before bestowing your best smile on the Doctor. His slightly reddened cheeks bolstered you to continue on.

As you switched your gaze from Dr. Reid to focus on Agent Morgan, your eyes swept past Agent Rossi who seemed - if you weren't mistaken - amused. His poker face now had the hint of a smirk. You didn't dare look at Agent Hotchner for fear that one look at his stern face would cause you to stutter and lose steam.

"Agent Morgan, you could care less about academic accomplishments, despite being relatively accomplished yourself." The large man gave you a warm smile, telling you that you were right on the mark. "For you it is all about who has your back out in the field. I'm at the top in the academy for all field evaluations. You also stalked my online profiles with Agent Garcia - who is your best friend -  and saw that I'm a Bears fan. That's what sealed the deal for you." He let out a laugh at that - a real one - and exchanged a look with Agent Garcia that was loaded with we are going to talk about THIS later.

Halfway through. Almost there. You had to remind yourself to keep going down the path you'd chosen. There was no way Charlotte Richards had turned the tables on the BAU team. Maybe she's smarter than you though. Yeah - definitely smarter than you if the pindrop silence in the aftermath of Agent Morgan's laugh was anything to go off of.

"Agent Jareau, " you turned your attention to the pretty media liaison and smiled kindly, which she returned. You would feel bad about this one, unsure of how she saw her place in the team, but you were determined to see this through to the end now. " Forgive me, but, you hesitated in giving your opinion. It is clear that you read through every application at least twice, combing them for the details." You took a breath, and met Agent Jareau's startled gaze. "You tried to find the humanity behind everyone's carefully curated headshot. What caught your eye was that I was turned down by the CIA prior to applying to the FBI." You felt bad about the assessment you were delivering and the uncomfortably tense silence in the room did nothing to put you at ease. To soften the blow, you continued onwards.  "It didn't matter as much to everyone else but it mattered to you because you know how it feels to be made to feel as though you aren't good enough. You believe in second chances and you value fairness. You thought it was only fair to give me a shot."

You swallowed again and looked for a sign that Agent Jareau now hated your guts for exposing vulnerabilities in front of her coworkers. Sure she works with profilers, but who enjoys having their insecurities laid bare that way? Agent Jareau surprised you however. She smiled and her kind eyes told you that it was alright. You were doing what you had to. "Call me JJ" she told you, before gesturing at you to keep going.

As you turned to Agent Prentiss, you saw her smirk turn into what could only be categorized as a stare down. She was daring you to guess why she picked you. She was hoping you would be wrong. You knew Emily Prentiss by reputation, and so squaring your shoulders once more, you continued. "We've led similar lives, Agent Prentiss,  - moving around at the whims of our parents career. You take a great amount of pride in having accomplished all that you have without your mother's influence. You don't see us as being the same though." You paused and gauged her reaction, but she had schooled her face to betray nothing.  "You think I've leaned on my father's role and title. Ultimately, you're competitive. You want to feel like you're one of the few who made it out of the diplobrat lifestyle all on your own. You picked me not because you actually care to have me on the team but because you wanted to pick me apart in person and prove to yourself that you're still the only one who did it all by herself. " You had shot out the last bit, knowing it would hit the mark in knocking her down just a peg. You were about to make enemies before you were even hired - of that you were certain.

"Hotch, this is ridiculous," Agent Prentiss exclaimed. "She's not answering the question."

"Oh come on Prentiss," Agent Morgan piped in, before either Agents Rossi or Hotch could say something. "You're just pissed because she got you exactly." God, it was good to have him in your corner.

"Emily," Dr. Reid's soft voice was in stark contrast to Agent Morgan's boisterous one. His hand settled on her shoulder and she allowed him to calm her down.

Agent Hotchner was conspicuously silent. His right arm framed his face as he contemplated you. His face still betrayed nothing, but finally meeting his gaze made the pit of dread in your stomach loosen just a bit. Why - you couldn't possibly explain it.

After Agent Prentiss's interruption, you turned to look Agent Rossi dead in the eye. He would be perhaps the easiest. You had no qualms about him or his reaction. You smirked and said, "You thought I was attractive." He gave you a surprised look. Bet he didn't think you'd call him out on that. "You're not embarrassed that I called you out on that in front of the entire team. You value loyalty and you know my father. And you're about to prove Agent Prentiss's belief that I have things handed to me because of my father's influence. I hope you won't do me any more favors because of my last name." You'd known Rossi knew your father. They were acquaintances that ran in the same larger circles and there was some respect that is bought between old men in cigar cubs that you'd never be able to comprehend.

"You're right, you are attractive and I do feel an obligation to give an old friend's kid a leg up." He told you, fixing you with a look that put you slightly on edge in anticipation of what was to come. "But, I think after this performance so far, I don't exactly regret sticking to my loyalties." You didn't know how to react to that, but his encouragin smile at the end helped you in getting your wits about you for the grand finale.

You slowly turned to face Agent Hotchner who had shifted slightly and now was turned more closely towards you. There was something in his dark brown eyes that radiated understanding. Perhaps a callback to his prosecutor days where he recognized the technique of knowing more and talking more to throw your opponent off balance.

Your voice was clear going into the home stretch. "Chief Strauss gave you my resume herself and asked you to consider it. You don't like her interference in how you run your team." Agent Rossi smirked beside him as you said that, and yet Agent Hotchner's face didn't change at all. "While I've been explaining why everyone else chose me, you've been waiting till I got to you so you can prove me wrong. The problem is, you don't know yourself why you chose me."

"Are you sure?" It was the first words he'd spoken since he'd initially explained the process. He was checking to see if you were bluffing. You looked him right in the face, eyes blazing, "Yes."

But you weren't done. Not yet. "So,” you barreled onwards, “instead of speculating at what I think is your reason for choosing me, let me give you the best reason for why I should be the final pick." You paused for a beat. "I can do this job better than anyone else you've interviewed, and I can prove it. "

He finally uncrossed his legs and leaning in, asked painfully softly, "How?" His voice caused goosebumps to erupt down your arms. Thank goodness you wore long sleeves.

This was it. You were either getting this job or you were about to be arrested and you had no idea which outcome was more likely.

You fixed your gaze to Dr. Reid once again. "Dr. Reid, I've heard some impressive things about your memory. In the past three years the BAU either did a remote consult or went in person to solve three cases - Charles Abbott in Milwaukee, Gabriel Smith in Dallas, and Elliot Roberts in Portland. Would you mind sharing what those three cases have in common?"  Dr. Reid shifted in his seat his long arms in front of his body, his hands cradling his head as he thought through your query.

From the corner of your eye you could feel Agent Prentiss's disdain radiating but she was curious. You knew she was intrigued and wanted to know where this was going. After a silence that seemed to stretch hours but was in reality maybe only a minute at most, Dr. Reid spoke, "In terms of crime, victimology, and MO they're all entirely different. The only thing those three cases have in common is that they were solved ultimately due to anonymous tips. The anonymous tipster ended up alluding to or adding a piece to the profile distributed to the public - something that was missed in the initial release. "

At this, you felt the entire room go stiff. They're all profilers and at least some of them have an idea of where this is headed now. They worked those cases and consults.

You smiled and nodded, "Yes, exactly. Now, those cases were spread out and have nothing in common with one another. But Agent Garcia, if you were to pull up the exact phone number associated with the anonymous tip for each case, you'll find that they were all solved by the same tipster, who called from a burner phone associated with the phone number 565-905-9589. "

There was a brief pause where Agent Garcia looked around the room to gauge if that was what she should do before she pulled out her tablet.

Agent Rossi spoke again, asking "What does that prove exactly besides the fact that you tied the same number across three different cases. Anyone with access to the FBI database could have conceivably done that."

"While that is correct, sir" Agent Garcia started furiously typing away at her touchscreen keyboard, "trainees typically lack that kind of access."

"Well we all know it isn't that hard to get access to what you shouldn't." This came from Agent Prentiss whose earlier smirk had morphed into a scowl during your rundown of her selection process, but was now simply intrigued. That looked like progress in some capacity at least.

Here goes nothing. "You're right. That is true." you addressed Agent Rossi's statement, before leaning down to reach your bag that had been lying on the floor since you sat down. You felt around inside until you found what you were looking for. "Which is why I'm sure you'll want to run forensics on the tip recording as well as inspect the phone which all of the calls came from," you stated, deftly setting down a disposable cell phone in front of Agent Hotchner.

He looked at the phone and then looked at you. You'd finally drawn a real reaction from him. He looked stunned. He wasn't alone. On the projector, Agent Garcia had pulled up the phone number tied to all three cases and you could see Dr. Reid verifying that it was indeed the number you'd recited earlier. JJ looked - dare you say - impressed. While Agents Morgan and Prentiss exchanged looks that you couldn't quite decipher the nuance behind.

"I understand that might take some time." you continued, as you gathered your bag from the floor and moved to stand up. Every single person in the room stared at you as if you'd grown three heads. "Once you've verified everything that I've just said, Agent Hotchner, I will be expecting your call. Have a nice day and thank you all for your time. " And she stuck the landing. You quickly turned and opened the door and walked out, suppressing  your Cheshire cat grin all the way to the elevator. ___________________________

In your wake, the BAU team looked at one another unsure of how to proceed. Hotch recovered first, "Reid, what the tipster said, was it all publicly available information that we missed?"

"It was, which is why no one chose to investigate any of them more, I'd wager."  Reid explained, still slightly in shock at the turn of events. "We just assumed we'd missed something in the profile, but there was no indication that it was someone who knew the UnSub or had any insider knowledge."

"Alright," Hotch sighed. That had not at all gone the way he had expected. Who just walks out of an interview like that after dropping a bomb. None of them had even thought to ask you to wait. They'd simply allowed you your dramatic exit as they stared at the phone. This was going to be a nightmare to deal with if it turned out you were anything other than what you'd claimed to be.

"Garcia," he turned and looked at the Technical Analyst who was brandishing her tablet the same way he held a gun.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do we have audio stored of any of the tips?"

"Allow me to check, one moment. Yes, we do. The Dallas case recorded and uploaded everything afterwards. Gotta love a data obsessed police department."

"Can you please play the recording?"

"Of course"

They all waited as Penelope brought the audio to the forefront and as she hit play, the tension in the room was at capacity. A crackle later, the audio began, your voice came through clear as can be. Agent Hotchner had a phone call to make.